I, II, III

I
single
in the sense
of obligation.

no connection
only the image
in the glass
made of sand.

no strings attached
no one to move you
or hold your hand.

no commitments
no passion
no pain
no man.

II
it’s been a year and some change
I’m officially over games
I’ve got my white flag raised
you all win, I give in
I don’t have it inside
to lie – in your bed, to your face
I’m pulling myself out of the race
don’t buy me any drinks
I work and can afford my own things
I don’t give a fuck what your name is
and I have no desire to tell you mine
I was doing just fine
before you had the ingenious thought
that I’d enjoy wasting my time on you

III
it’s a wonderful feeling
not having to be
responsible for anything you do
if you’re single, there’s never
an angry lover to answer to
no silly man telling you
your skirts too far up your ass
or to cover-up the cleavage he
loves to stick his face in
before you leave the house
even though he met you in
the very outfit he protests
you wearing six months later
there’s no fights about dirty
dishes in the sink or remote
controls – no one to bitch
when you want to watch sex
and the city because it’s
the episode that the Big prick
Carries obsessed with realizes
he loves her – the guy who uses
her when he’s feeling lonely
and ruins every relationship she
tries to have during the course
of her life by appearing
in some ridiculous limo
as if her world revolved
around him and only him –
which it did and she’s a
fucking idiot
it’s a wonderful feeling
not to be a fucking idiot
whose world revolves around
some dickhead man who has
no idea what he wants in life
and walks around pissing
on trees and whacking off
to pictures in a magazine

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