Giving Up


I give up
on romance
and the light
of a lover’s eyes
trailing his fingers
from my hips
to an upward spiral
to my hard-pressed lips.

I will never find
a lover to complement
my solitude,
my echoing laugh
bouncing up and down
the coffee-stained walls
of my one-bedroom
or the half-empty bed
creased with a shape
of my body,
single and alone
with rose petal prints
on my pearl-white
bed sheets
tucked away
with secrets
and my attitude.

Never give up
hope in a lover
my friends whisper
like a conscious
voice ringing my ears
with a piercing echo,
louder than my muffled
of I give up
for no lover
has ever unclothed
my emotions
before unbuttoning my
button-down blouse
on date night.

They tell me to
never give up
but my body
is not an object
of commitment
or respect.
I give up
for my character
is not beautiful
but my face
can at least
turn heads
for another
lover to unbutton
my blouse.

Singlehood is my mantra.
Singlehood is my womanhood.
I give up.



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