The feminist in me is disappointed.
The American in me is ashamed.
The human in me is confused.
It is nearly midnight.
My ass rests on the floor of my bedroom;
my eyes on the t.v.;
my heart in my stomach.
I pinch myself.
I change the channel.
I change it back.
I want to scream.
I want to cry.
So I do.
I hear a man’s voice behind me.
I feel a calloused hand on my shoulder.
I take the tissue when it is offered.
“Don’t cry”, he says.
“It will be alright”, he says.
“She was just the wrong woman” he offers when I give no reply.
I want to leave and stay at the same time.
I could try to put this feeling into words.
But it has just become painfully clear that nobody will hear them.