It’s those micro aggressions, the intimate partner who thinks it would be really pretty if you cut your hair real short. Making comments about how pretty other women are, out in public, with their hair shorn off like sheep.

“Just don’t put any on your face,” at your traditional tattoos. 

It’s noticing how frivolous men are with their affections. Dancing all night and hearing drums, getting his number, and finding out he’s married. 

It’s the pen pal who doesn’t write anymore.

It’s your first love on his third marriage. 

It’s the shit like this.

That make us native ladies become snails.   

Single and unavailable. Disinterested. Hearts on the ground for all of you. 

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