Sorry Seeder
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Sorry seeder, bottom feeder. You know why this makes me think of you.
The problem is, I thought you had all this malicious intention. But maybe you were just a garden variety self-serving idiot. Maybe I don't have to be afraid that the whole world is full of men like you. Maybe your mom was a terrible person. Maybe you were the youngest child and there were no lessons or love left for you. Maybe you were really in love with me in your juvenile, entitled way. Maybe you were just an idiot and I'm the one for whom there were no lessons or love available. It's so much more fun to be mad at you and cling to my blame and anger. It's so much more familiar. Sorry seeder, bottom feeder. I love the way that sounds. Maybe that's part of the problem? What do I do with all the darkness inside me and how I love that darkness if I let go of this fear because of and anger toward you that I've been carrying for all these years? Sorry seeder, bottom feeder.
Sorry seeder, bottom feeder. Maybe there's not a hundred of you out there at the edge of the field, waiting for me to take one step forward and then the whole wall of you starts running at me, assault on your mind.
Sorry seeder, bottom feeder. What if you're more like a flashing red light man now? So obvious to my eye, wherever I find myself. I probably won't experience you or your ilk nearly as much anymore – not because I'm not as pretty but because I'm wiser and I don't mind letting that show. At least I like to think I don't. Sorry seeder, bottom feeder, you're probably not man enough to approach me anymore. The blessing of midlife and all the work I've done. Sorry seeder. I'll bet you're still on the bottom.
This came out when I gave my body a voice inside Body Writers, my somatic writing and healing circle. Learn to give your body a voice here.