Rant 1: The Coward

How dare you judge me? You don’t know how I’ve lived all these years. The emptiness of my bed and heart. Wishing on stars, dandelions, and bullshit. Crushes like those of a teenager. How I flee from the married couples and new parents. How I wish I could sew or knit so I can start dressing those saints.
Still, I like to dance and drink and laugh. I am free. While freedom strangles at me at times, mostly I revel in it. I can wander the streets of Rome, spend my money on old books, run for miles and miles. I like a handsome face, the witty line. What have you had to offer, all that time watching me from a distance? You might have stared. You might have touched my waist. But no words. When you finally speak, your words are meaningless, much more empty than a spinster’s house.
So you attack me. I know what you’re trying to say. Whore. Slut. Falsa. Mentirosa. Paper sticks and cloth stones. I’m no victim. Woe is you.

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