when of me?
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when?
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aching at return
nothing i know am i, yet
tattooed inside lip mine
a name a name a name
carved into my femur
cut into my heart
pinned upon my sleeve
pierced onto my tongue
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.
asking as if need—
when, oh when of me?
when of me?
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11 responses to “when of me?”
Nice!
Thanks!
You are welcome! I like the way you convey such depth, with so few words.
💙
Felt that.
Hopefully not too acutely. 😢
I was recently involved in a conversation where we talked about societal and cultural pressure (from a female standpoint) of being in a relationship. Even if it’s toxic, it feels like it’s better to be in a relationship than not. For those of us that have been asked all those hurtful questions; why aren’t you married? Why don’t you have children? What’s wrong with you? Well, maybe if you lowered your standards! For example. Do we long for our partners name is be carved on us somewhere? Peel back the skin, seeking? Yet, how cruel to have a name etched into your soul never to find. 🤔
I think it is a weird fetish when people feel a need to question anyone along those lines. What business is it of theirs? But we’ve evolved into a society that is permissive about unsolicited advice and opinions. Mrs. Grundy can’t seem to keep either to herself, can she?
Frankly, I am tired of saying something as innocuous as, “I am cold today” and someone thinking it is an opening to tell me how best to beat the cold and warm up. Can’t I just be cold? Apparently not. Maybe I am not complaining, but I enjoy the cold.
Now, obviously, that is less intrusive than quizzing you about your relationships and then giving unsolicited advice about how to improve it. Or, worse yet, judging you on it (again, absolutely no one requested that you share your judgments, Mrs. Grundy).
However, never is a very long time. Maybe a person sharing that etched name will show up when you turn around at the grocery store tomorrow. 😉 Who knows?
Just don’t tell Mrs. Grundy. She’ll have a negative opinion about THAT too.
I will share part of a story; I went to a church once that gave all the Mothers a rose on Mothers Day. I didn’t take one. And explained to the lady giving them out, I’m not a mother and that (for me) is disrespectful. But thank you. She looks at me, wide eyed, rose in hand and asked, “But why?” That pissed me off. And I reacted. It was ugly but out it came. I said, “I know where they come from and know how to stop them.” If I would have smacked her in the face, I would have gotten the same reaction.
People might mean well. Sometimes it’s best to just shut up.
Ugh! People like that… ugh.
Most times it is best to shut up. I don’t need to know some things, and just because I have an opinion about something doesn’t mean that it is appropriate to share it [generally speaking].
But people have low self-control and minimal filters on that kind of matter. I don’t know why that is.
Me either.
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