Photo Credit: Baptista Ime James
They have a tendency to cut themselves,
On sharp objects,
On blunt edges,
On hard surfaces,
On unremarkable men.
I can’t understand it.


The men.
They are never worth it,
Never special,
Never impressive,
Barely even just okay.
Yet the women stay.
I don’t understand it.


They stay.
To no end,
They persist.
The cut deepens.
It burns and aches.
Yet they hold fast.
I wish I didn’t understand it.

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