Bikinis

I always set you up for failure.

Guilty until proven innocent,

For now, at least.

I think my evolution to protect myself and my expectations,

Has gone too far.

But I can’t catch it.

I smother you.

And then I dissect your stories,

For proof of what I know.

But don’t actually know at all.

Why do I care who they are?

When you come home and say, “I would freak out!”

At the out of context, hypothetical idea of my departure.

What proof am I looking for?

Who put this need here?

Society?

Well, my man is different and you can make a cookie out of him.

But you can torpedo my mind with doubt,

And I hate you for it.

These billboards need to shut up already.

These role models of women need to pull down their skirts,

And stop kissing the camera.

Sometimes, I wish we could escape,

And roll along a beach,

Where the sand is too fine to grab on,

And the water too lovely to part with.

There, I would be certain.

Until a bikini walks by.

I need to let go.

I need to breathe.

I need to remember he chose me.

And he continues to choose me.

I need to choose to believe him.

And get some really good blinders for those bikinis.

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