
“In the past quarter century, we exposed biases against other races and called it racism, and we exposed biases against women and called it sexism. Biases against men we call humor.”
—Warren Farrell, Women Can’t Hear What Men Don’t Say
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“In the past quarter century, we exposed biases against other races and called it racism, and we exposed biases against women and called it sexism. Biases against men we call humor.”
—Warren Farrell, Women Can’t Hear What Men Don’t Say
Read more »
And on the days when the missing him is thick; I search the pockets for something new. There is only the bank statement, folded and fading in the right pocket. In the left, the button I always promised to reattach and ticket stubs—two. The last time we sat so close our shoulders barely touched. The last sign. It’s still there: the coat—heavy, thick and brown—hanging limp on the coat rack near the door. It has become as much a part of this place as the steady stream of noise from the hallway.
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I fell in love with him. Without permission. His kisses laced with unrequited dreams that tasted temporary.
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you render me useless this side of morning
it’s more than the weight of left leg
draped heavily against my right
more than muscled shoulders
tattooed with sweat
and last night’s perfume
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He says he’s jealous of the moon, because you look at it. He’s jealous of the sun, because it warms you. He says, I feel you, even when I’m not feeling you. I talk to you when I’m not talking to you. I love you, even when I’m not loving you.”
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