I’m waving my arms in the air, intoxicated with independence.
My arms still run track marks from that night I got drunk;
this week, every night is the night I got drunk. I was too sober with you.
I hate all these men looking at me.
It makes me feel beautiful and empty.
I see them scan past my sad eyes:
who hurt her?
I wouldn’t hurt her.
Such stupid men.
They want me because they don’t know me.
At least so many men want you, she said.
But I’ve never cared for mathematics.
I want none of them;
I never did.
I wish you had added me up in different ways.
I wish I had given you my shinier numbers.