my vagina monologue

I want to stay home.
In a way hidden and still not quite safe.
But where the sense of safety is just enough to help me fall asleep.

Truth is – I am tired.
I am tired of the silent tension in my body keeping vigilant in the dark alleys of the city running through my veins. A tension I am supposedly used to and yet tonight I want to be where I can breathe a little deeper – a little slower.

I would like to fill both my ears with music and drown in the emotions that flow from it. I do not want to have one ear keep on alert… just in case.
I don’t want to worry about the alcohol I consume in my neighborhood in the bars I deemed safe and yet having it somehow misunderstood.

I guess I am tired – of the constant ways of womanhood.
Every dream destination mixed with gentle waves of fear of what may happen if I were to be alone. Desiring the false sense of safety from being with a man – who hold the power to alter my breathing from ease to gasping in the blink of an eye.

I seek stability and shelter in a place truly safe.
I seek a time where I can break down and let the pain pour without judgment or responsibilities. All seems too much to ask. Too much to attain.

So I wrap my arms around the small frame of my body.
I caress it with whispers and chants of words it deserves to hear.
That I am great.
That I am strong.
That it is okay to be simultaneously so fragile.
That ultimately I am enough.
And that I am loved – most importantly by the two arms holding it close.

So excuse my weary smiles that drop the moment your back is turned.
Excuse my early exits and goodbyes.
I want to be home.
Somewhere hidden and yet not quite truly safe.