An Honest First Date

Hello, nice to meet you. My first name is Myah, middle name Anxiety, last name – I can’t tell you because PTSD. 

Sorry I’m 2 minutes late, I’m actually always 10 minutes early but this audiobook told me I can’t seem too eager if I want a man to like me. 

I have to be busy but available, sweet but also bitchy, sexy yet conservative, give you just enough but not too much. 

I have to act out of character if I want you to want me. 

So you’ll excuse my hesitation when you ask what I want to eat. 

Dating is a game I really don’t want to play and to be honest if I had it my way? I’d skip to the end where we drive away “just married” as our soundtrack plays. 

Not with you I don’t mean, well actually maybe? 

I don’t know, that’s why I’m here but now that you mention it we really would make cute kids…

You ask about my hobbies and I list reading, writing, and getting attached way too fast. 
But also personal growth so I’m trying to fix that last one but so far it’s been a bit of a bust. 

I’m a whole lot of all or nothing. 

Either you’re my last priority and barely get a moment or I’m completely consumed by you and give you my time as if you’re owed it. 

I have about a thousand demons behind these hazel eyes. But I’ll belt Kelly Clarkson and tell you no lies. 

Look, to be honest I’m really a mess. 

I’m a trainwreck, a hurricane, but damn I’m still the best.

I’m fierce, I’m intelligent, I can cook and I clean. I’ve likely got more ambition in my one toe than in your wildest dreams.

I walk down the street – people want to know me. But given the chance, they pick and choose what to believe. 

I’m unfinished. 

A magnificent mural still in progress.

I’m healing, I’m grieving, I’m not quite interested?

Yeah, I don’t know why I’m here since I’d rather be single. Something the kids these days call emotionally unavailable. 

But you’re really sweet with a nice laugh, flowing hair, and kind eyes. I’d give this a shot but my heart has no welcome sign. 

And you see I’d invite you to my apartment but I’m getting real sick and tired of my sanctuary turning into a truck stop just for passers by. 

And I still see memories dancing around like atomic shadows and you shouldn’t even want to touch my nuclear soul. 

I’m unstable, unpredictable, delicate, rare, powerful — And most certainly more than you could handle. 

I may be cracked but who the fuck said I need fixing? My flaws aren’t compromises they are adornments. From my brain’s self-doubt that runs so deep, all the way down my spine to my calloused feet. 

Don’t come here with plans to try and change me?

My soft voice turns to daggers on a dime. Usually when mediocre men try and take what’s mine. 

My love

My time

My fucking consent. 

I keep a napkin over the hole in my straw because I can’t afford to risk even an inch. 

Another tally mark, another name on a list I call rape. 

You count your lays while I count how many valium I have to take.

You think I want to go on a moonlit stroll for our date because its romantic? But I only want to go because I can’t when I’m alone. 

You tell me to look up at the stars and point out constellations while I remember the galaxy that used to live in my eyes until he stole it. 

And you think it’s charming to ask “do you trust me?” as you speed over the hill but the answer is NO.

I don’t trust you. 

I don’t trust anyone but I got tired of living a life of staying in my bed when my rapist was strolling the baking aisle at my local grocery store because the judge wouldn’t grant me a restraining order.

But sure, I trust you as you yet again show me that a man will prioritize his excitement over my safety. 

And when I finally tell you what he did to me you say you’d never do something so violently but he said that too. 

And so did the guy before him, and before him. 

And so you’ll fucking forgive me when your words seem hollow. 

I. Am. Tired.

Tired of being too strong for men who call me intimidating. Too ambitious for men who call me pretentious. Too kind for men who call me incredible. And yet they still walk away? 

Because bad girls hold no value to you and good girls are unfamiliar so you run away too. 

So what the fuck am I supposed to do?

you want this nice girl to rehabilitate you? 

All I’ll ever be to you is an option. A checkbox on a survey you take with no caution. 

An inanimate object. 
The trophy wife

The dynamite girlfriend

The doormat you use to rub off your insecurities. 

“I’m different” you say. “I’m not trash like them”. 

But when you push back my hair I feel the same skin. Another man with empty promises asking me to place empty bets with my sanity as collateral that I should trust them because “you’re different”. 

Forgive me my candor but I see through the bullshit. 

I know you only have co-star because a dozen women before me asked for your top 3. 

I know you offered to cook so you could try to fuck me. I know that all you see is a my blonde hair, my tits, and my insecurity. 

You’re an opportunist, a charmer, a snake oil salesman. But I’m supposed to trust you for the sake of finding love? I’m supposed to let you in? 

Well to that I say to hell with vulnerability. I say if you want what’s inside you better pull up a seat. 

This wall is no brick laid mansion, it’s solid stone. 

You can’t smash down with careless swings, you’re going to need a chisel if you want to get me. 

Careful, slow, intentional strokes and one day you’ll uncover my heart of gold. 

You want the reward with none of the work? Well you’re in the wrong place. Treasure wasn’t made to be easily chased. 

So I’ll see you on the other side where love will find it’s place. I’ll grant you your excalliber if you withstand the rain. 

An exceptional experience they’ll read in a history book page. 

My love will wrap you up like the bacon on the filet mignon I ordered tonight knowing that you picking up the check is only a transaction. 

I. am. tired. 

Tired of dating, tired of hurting , tired of trying, tired. of. men. 

I’m still on my journey and finding my way so you’ll understand when I tell you I don’t want you to stay. 

This bed is my fortress, these sheets my embrace. I know you think you should save me but I’d rather you spit in my face. 

So either accept this mess or wait until my heart is no longer bruised.

I truly don’t need your love to act as the glue.

Take 10 steps back and read the room, dude? 

Your white knight love has no place in my kingdom of chaos. 

It was nice to meet you, thanks for the food. Maybe we can stay friends and no I still don’t want to have sex with you.