I No Longer Beg for Scraps Sitting a few feet away, I ignore the relentless sounds of my dog scratching at the door. The weather is nice. Warm, no rain. He wags his tail when I look at him, not in pain. He throws his full weight at the glass, such effort. I stare at my phone with ease. THIS MUST BE HOW IT FELT. All those nights I cried on the bathroom floor, head against the door. Desperate to be let in but your walls were too thick, your head too dense. The unpaid labor of hours spent explaining the basic concept of honesty. Years spent begging for apologies to be tossed my way. I gnawed away at the remnants of self-respect as I failed to convince you I was good enough until finally, finally, the light bulb lit up. YOU SAW ME AS A TRAP INSTEAD OF A HOME. My reactions overreactions. My emotions manipulative. My crying angering and never, ever your fault. I was a bitch for expecting loyalty from a male in perpetual heat. A dog begging to be let in-- A lullaby as you fell asleep. Magdalena Matacz is an artist and writer from New York. Aside from some work featured in college literary magazines, a lot of her work remains hidden in notebooks, waiting to be shared—until now. INSTAGRAM: @m.luxaeterna
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