F words coming from my lips.
Like Fuck and Forever and Fought for something. They say nice guys Finish last so why the
hell would I want to be nice? I want to
be First. Make that my F word. Put me on your middle Finger and point me
out. Stop telling me I’m not a good
person. Stop telling me I don’t deserve
a nice guy. There’s no such thing as
nice. Everyone is terrible. And everyone deserves to be touched gently,
to be held dearly. I deserve what you
deserve: to be loved with sweat and teeth and mad hope. I want F words like Friendship and Family and
Forever. And I don’t give an F about
what you think I don’t deserve. I say
hard things with an easy smile. And you
think that makes me easy. But honey, at
heart, I’m still that sixteen year old with black painted Fingernails, middle Finger
to the camera and heart set on happily Forevermore. F-words.
Hard things. Like hard Fought Forever. Sweetie, I’m Fun because I don’t give a
Fuck. I was seventeen once. I put my Finger up enough For life. Flipped so hard and I landed on my Feet.
.
About Me
- Molly Shea
- Molly Shea is a nonfiction writer and a recreational poet in New York City. Her memoir-in-progress Love You, Mean It tells the story of how growing up in a dysfunctional matriarchal family in Southwestern Wisconsin ultimately affected her adult life. It is a story about love in the context of rape, abuse, alcohol, and hope. Molly would like to live and love happily ever after. Molly holds a Masters from The New School.
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