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The dress I’m wearing is black with a blush-pink floral design; it’s off the shoulder. I didn’t put on a bra, but I contemplated wearing one, though. I open my drawer, picked out the blush pink one, just to keep the color scheme going, and laid it against my bare chest. I want you to know that I thought about you when I decided what the look was for tonight. I glance at myself in the mirror, just to see. But I figure, the sheerness of the garment I am wearing, the nearness of the cloth to my naked breasts... I don’t know, I thought it might please you. I thought...

I thought that when you picked me up tonight, it would be different. No, you rubbing your hand across my nipple was not you trying to get closer to my heart. But it’s what I wanted right? It’s what I asked for. I let the mild un-comfortability burn on my lips like the sting of the razor-blade cuts on my legs… I shaved this time.

As you stare down at the menu at this restaurant, the one you always take me to on date-night, the one you always order the same dish from: well done steak with asparagus as your side, I notice your continuous glances towards my chest, then to my abdomen, then down below into the depths of my dress. I am sitting cross-legged, but I can tell that you are trying to pick me apart with your eyes. You are willing all the fibers of this $95.99 dress rip and tear apart with your mind, but you haven’t even asked me how my day was.

We always come to this restaurant.

I tell myself I should be grateful for this love, for this attention. Is this not what I asked for? Isn’t this what you dreamed of as a little girl? Didn’t momma tell you not to let a good man go?

Something is missing, and I’ve always thought that something was me. You are so sure of yourself, so I took it upon myself to diagnose myself as the cancer. I yell at myself for my flaws and apologize for existing, and these behaviors manifest into the physical.

I am realizing, on this long car ride home, where you think you will come into my home, take what you want from me, and leave in the morning, that I won’t let you this time.

I think next time, I’ll take myself to dinner.


Her name is Mikhayla and she likes to view life in the light of words. She never knew how to express herself until she started writing. Her words have freed her, and she hopes they can do the same for others.



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