I said with my eyebrow, the word bitch is too comfortable in your mouth. But you’re progressive, pro-black, pro-feminist the same way the white woman who sat across from me was progressive when she asked “so, how is the drug problem in your high school?”
When I looked out the window while you played your garage band song, that was me saying I don’t give a fuck about your garage band song. My smile was a good ole southern “bless your heart.”
I grabbed your hair because it was in my face, not because I thought it was pretty. It was greasy and smelled like gym. Use dry shampoo and stop skipping leg day. You are built like the WB frog.
When I sat in the corner of the classroom and wrote rather than talked to you, I was saying I’d rather construct an entire universe and put white people at the center of it than listen to Lil Wayne.
You must learn to listen to my smile. The ones that don’t reach my eyes are the ones that are saying you ain’t shit.
Nail filing is the language of the unbothered. So is blogging.
There were moments when I closed my eyes or stared up at the sky or ceiling. That was me envisioning not being near you, escaping to solitude, imagining the freedom of stretching out and your body not being there, of wishing I had driven instead, of calculating the cost of a Lyft.
When I didn’t hug you goodnight at my dorm room door, that was goodbye. That was don’t call me. Waving was me saying, I need you to disappear.
When I hugged my notebook over my chest that was me saying stop sexualizing a minor. That was your only warning.
Me giving you those earrings back was a
critique of your fragile masculinity.
Me pressing my cold feet into yours was my way of saying you’re selfish.
That moment I put my phone down and turned my music off was my consent to listen to the bull shit you were about to say.
Me pushing you away, physically with my hands was a clear no. No I don’t want to dance with you, your worn out deodorant, or your day drinking breath. I’m not going to smile for you, tell you my name, let you type your number in my phone. Listen to you call me bitch for ignoring you.
Zero room for negotiation.