This post is part of a series called 100 Days of Poetry.

turns out I’m not that interested in what might be expected of me.

so much so that I will actually divert in other directions when you make known what you thought I meant.

because, honey, what I meant (and lean in for this) when I said ‘Fuck You’ was that I can see your fear in my ability to stare your anger in the face and let it wash over me, but not collect its message. You probably don’t even care about me, but, baby, turns out 

I do.

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