OA or Why I Became a Nun

I learned to identify rocks in high school: granite, quartz, diorite.  I still can’t identify which men are dangerous, not even on an intellectual level, until I’m busted up on the side of the road, another flower in a bouquet of “I told you so”.  Character judgement as a beginner’s level course is something I flunk out of more often that I will admit to anyone.

Historically, I have been perfectly comfortable gambling on myself.  I have always believed that my heart can take any amount of abuse.  I would rather be a thousand splintered pieces no one else but me would bother to tape together than the reason you’re flinching every time a woman walks in.  I would rather be with someone who doesn’t care about me all that much and even I can see that’s a trainwreck of a policy.  

I’m over here tiptoeing past the sleeping giant of my inner child begging for the cereals with all the sugar.  I’m over here with my “just say no” and my “I’m sorry I can’t do this”.  I’m over here keeping my heart away from things it could break, elephant in a china shop and sometimes

I wish I didn’t have to.