Itty Bitty Titty City

“I was just drunk, dialing your number, hoping that you just might wanna come over”

You either like me or you don’t. It took me twenty-something years to learn how to love myself, I don’t have that kinda time to convince somebody else.

I am the book you pick up but never buy. I am the book you open but never finish to read and that’s okay. I write for myself anyway.

But I don’t want small talk. Text me, and without saying hello, tell me why you got so angry at your neighbor this morning. Tell me why you have a scar shaped like the letter S on your palm. Send me paragraphs about the time you spent at your grandmother’s house that one summer. Call me when I’m half asleep and tell me why you fear owls . Tell me about the first time you saw your dad cry. Tell me about your friends’ childhood funny stories, tell me about the little girl who used to annoy you when you were kids. Text me at 4 AM to tell me about the dream that woke you up , come at my door to show me your writings . Talk to me about your wildest dreams that you feel embarrassed to share with anyone Go on for hours about things that may not seem important because I promise that I’ll be hanging on to every word you say. Tell me everything. I don’t want someone who just talks about the weather.

You cannot know strength unless you were once vulnerable. You cannot know strength unless you were once broken. One needs to exist to make the other true. I know my strength because of surviving what I’ve been through.