I get that you’re not supposed to punch a gift horse in the tits or whatever but sometimes I straight up don’t want your shit. I don’t want that dress you bought me, I don’t want that firefly you caught me I don’t want your flowers I don’t want them becuase they give you power.
I don’t want your free box of chocolate, I don’t want it because you bought it thinking it came with a part of me on the price tag up in the high fifties.
I don’t want the necklace anymore, I wish I’d told you to return it to the store but instead I gave it to my mother and sent you a picture of her and I at a wedding when she was wearing it. I wore a necklace I bought myself.
I don’t want the raincoat from banana republic, I don’t want it because you’re a dick. You said it made me look like holly golightly so I wore it for my costume on halloween night.
I don’t want your stupid presents. They remind me of your constant presence. You give gifts like a greek, rolling wooden horses down my heart’s drunk avenues and waiting until night falls to sneak out and burn everything, that’s what I think of you.
You’re Odysseus, you’re Ulysses, you’re Roman and Greek, you’re philosophy and barbarism and everything in between- and you give like you get, which is a lot (from women like me)- but there I go getting all upset.
I don’t want to see you anymore. Take back your gifts. Take back the forties and take back the fifths. Take back the jewelry and take back the wine. Take back the dinner and give me back my precious time.
-and that’s ten. well that was a weird one-