I Try Not To Write When I’m Pissed Off But I Do Make Exceptions…

This is untitled, for now

I wonder what gives them the audacity to ask me:
is his father around?
Many times I’d bow my head and look to the ground.
Too proud to tell
Or embarrassed by the reality the question reveals
Still…
It’s none of your damn business!
It’s taken me 7 years to address this
7 years of my heart being restless
hoping no one would ask
Praying no one would know
Trying not to let my singleness show
I want a hashtag for all you bastards that ruin my beautiful mother-son moments with your need to know,
the pity that follows,
the exchange of blows
For you, the privileged assholes who cut me in line,
strike up a conversation then pay me no mind
Don’t ask his name
Don’t tell him he’s cute
Don’t try and flatter me with the “oh, he looks just like you”
I am over explaining who we are and how we came to be
My only wish is
that you let us be
We are complete
with or without a “He”
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