Bitchfaces, how goes it? Glad to be back in the office, with my endless supply of chargers that never work on the device I’m using, and my 4,000 notebooks of free verse.
As everyone is aware, I was on a semi-hiatus for about a month. No particular reason, just needed to see something different for a little bit. Well, maybe a few reasons that made sense at the time, but I overthink things. This isn’t new news.
Now, I know that when I come here all boo-hoo crybaby face, throwing stanzas of poetry around like fucking confetti, it can be a little chaotic. But, I’ve been writing about the same person for two years, and it’s been nothing but an empty pit I throw my feelings into.
It never conjured him right the fuck up, we’ll put it that way.
Until…
Because that, exactly that, is how my life goes. Two years, and the one fucking time he is looking to see if I’m still in it, I’m gone.
Thank Baby Jesus.
I don’t need that shit anymore. I was out, doing things, not here, falling apart. Finally, after all this time, all those months I cried in my sleep and I know this because it woke me up. All those months, I cried in the shower because that’s the same shit you do in prison, so nobody sees you.
I wonder if his curiosity got the best of him. Or if he’s stateside. Or if it was an accident. I won’t ask, though. I won’t engage.
Why would I? There’s no question, if he knocked on the door I would answer. He isn’t knocking, and I know now that he never will.
That’s the type of fuckery I just can’t abide. Of course, tell that to that dumb ass bitch with all the emotions who likes to wreck my makeup and leave my eyes swollen shut. She’s all “huzzah” and “we should call him” like I won’t break her dialing fingers the fuck off her hand.
I don’t give a fuck if it’s my hand, too, or not. No means no, heaux.
I hate it. You always feel so stupid, like the way you were so open was obvious, and everyone could see just what kind of a fool you were. Like everyone knows exactly what you couldn’t quite figure out, that there was only one person in that relationship, and it wasn’t him.
It was just you, stupid, and here you are just dying to humiliate yourself again. Like you just don’t learn, no matter how many shocks from the fence you get, even when you’re pissing down your leg. You never see the fucking writing on the wall.
He Doesn’t Care About You.
No matter how it’s spelled out, you just can’t stop believing that nobody lies that well, that surely there was something.
There Wasn’t.
Maybe it was just me.
It usually is.
I so appreciate your infusion of humor into this. It's heavy. I'm far removed from the dumb shit, but I still feel it. And feel for you 🖤
They do lie that well and then they try to convince you you’re the crazy one. But you’re not. They’re walking fog machines. And they get mad when you start fanning the fog away.