Two lines converged but
Before our strides lined up as we entered
I had made up my mind
Before our entrance
And he had made up his mind too
Though in this matter
He had no right

Were I a selfish woman
Or a woman at all
It would not have mattered how little unselfish kindness he was made of
For I would not have given way to his want
I would have known the value of the secret garden I possessed within
Of no value to anyone but myself
But of value to me like a splash of paint to a yet uncolored canvass

However I was not a woman
I was without firm identity
I was, most importantly, selfless.
And when a selfish wish
Is paired with a selfless heart
A black hole is formed
Which rips the self of one
Invisibly away.
And so when he asked
Though he had no right
I gave over my self
Which is to say autonomy
To the black hole
And as a woman now, I am incomplete