Mississippi River Splits the State

I like to play "professional." I act cool in conversation, so when I start crying in bed, guys seldom notice, much less ask me what happened. That's okay because I wouldn't say I like it when they hold me after. You didn't ask either, but I’ll tell you anyway.

What’s wrong is that I started “living by feeling,”… so now when I look in the mirror, I think I’m pretty and that my body is appealing from curls to toes. So yes, I understand them. To each their own. I firmly don’t want my firm a-- to be filmed on his phone, to reside permanently in this world, haunting me.

Guys want to hold and smack me while they record me; I want them to leave me alone.

I’m in one of my overnight rooms in a random American state, which feels great. Today, JXN Mississippi is my muse. The rainy sunset color show reminds me that I never lose.

When I got to the elevator at the Best Western that I booked on the corporate card, the number of cameras at every angle alarmed me, but for the federal government, it’s very on-brand. Though I’m off the clock, I’m still watching and watching… oh yes, I am. I'm hyper-vigilant whenever I see a man. The boys want to come with me. Guys… I’m just here overnight. I don’t have the time or the energy to make a new friend or a new enemy. The misery drains me. It’s a cold fact, but I dropped another sweet boy from Central America in America's inner cities.

I’m here for work; still, I met two guys at the airport. They approached me, one after the other. The first one was quicker, he circled back to ask me a series of questions, concluding with "What type of liquor" was best for him to bring to my hotel room at the Best Western. I was taken aback by the fact that he’d assume something as bold as having our first meeting behind closed doors alone.

I was taken aback more by the fact that I instinctively answered "Prosecco," like a subpar city whore.

It's silly, but the inner city people know who is not from there. Surely, I look out of the way. They approached me a minute apart, and their first questions were: Are you from here?

Something about the situation convinced me we found each other for a reason. Shortly, we found ourselves under the covers. Just as fast as I met him, our days were over. Isn't it like that with everybody? Every goodbye is practice. I regularly practice breaking attachments.

Like a tornado that tears through a field, destroying everything in its path;

If this is just my nature, is it still considered wrath?

October 2022