One day we’ll both
forget the storms we danced through.
You’ll find a nice girl
to fall into peace with
and you’ll forget about the days
we lost our minds together.
I’ll be across the world
and still know the exact moment
I’ll pretend that I don’t
and I’ll forget you
the way I forget every dream
I’m not brave enough for.
I’ll meet someone who reminds
me of the years I gave my best
to a boy who held me like he meant it.
And I want you to know that it
could have been you.
That it almost was you,
but we didn’t know how to be good for each other
and how to stay that way.
In another world, it is you,
and we’re better for it.
I hope you know that I wanted that.
That a part of me always will.
I need feminism; because the bra straps of a twelve year old shouldn’t make a 40 year old married principal with two daughters “uncomfortable”
So am I allowed to walk around adult women who are mothers and grandmothers at work with my cock out or what
in what world is someone’s dick equivalent to a fucking bra strap