[an erasure. click HERE to read full prose poem]
Dear Proud Tinder Girl
Dear Proud-Tinder-Girl-Who-Clicked-“Unmatch”—JustLikeThat!
Fuck yeah you did it! The red flags glaring, you called them out and bounced. Didn’t it feel great? Didn’t it feel amazing to back-hand compromise?! Remember that surprise when you realized the power of control, felt the strength potent in your chakras—the heat rising from your root, ignited your manipura and heart so fire that your throat unfettered wailed ~ I wanna dance with somebody ~ as you danced your way down the street, ecstatic to be dancing with yourself. Ever mindful, you literally felt your third eye open and wise to the breakthrough, light burst through your crown and you witnessed an evolution between choruses ~ Yeah, I wanna dance with somebody, with somebody who loves me! ~ when you realized the power in loving yourself.
Remember all of this—hold tight to those bodily sensations until your muscle memory holds them stable, til you’re rock-steady in your worth. Do this and you will find yourself in Oz wearing the ruby slippers and riding a horse of a different color into every sunset. Be sure to wave hello to The Wizard, nod him Namaste, but trust that you do not need his help—you are enough and everything.
Enjoy today & always,
Raina
Real Talk for a Night & Always an Evolution
...I know I'm not even close to a *ping* on your radar, but when I come across you on FB/IG, my radar sounds and I can't help but think of you. I think about seeing you at X and the obligatory hello you gave with the not-so-subtle vibe that smelled of no-I'm-not-interested--not-even-in-conversation. And then I think of the day and the night of YZ's failure of a surprise—and how my anxiety grew roots all day and blossomed once all of the oxygen imploded—and how not you or any other person who helped plan the party was there for me while I spiraled in and out of hyperventilated sobs, closed behind my bedroom door while my home was full of people—and how not only did none of you check in on me let alone help, but instead talked shit behind my back while standing huddled around my kitchen sink. And how you especially hardcore failed me, when you should've been the one person who cared enough to place your palm on my back. Yes, I realize there was more, but not really. It was all my anxiety. And while you write and perform your knowledge of PTSD on stages and preach about the compassion needed to overcome, you offer/ed me none. But instead look past me with an insulting indifference when our paths align for a night. And whether social media thrusts you in my face or we meet IRL, it hurts despite time passing, cuz you still sexy as hell and I'm still full of heart and always an evolution.