Writing My Wrongs

I resorted to calling you all kinds of bitches…in my head.
Because I was silently warring with myself at how I was being the equivalent of bitchassness.
Hated myself for caring and not only that…
Not only that…
But I wanted…needed to try and make shit right…even though I was the one that got the ball rolling on this.
I don’t know about most women…
I only know about this woman…
And this woman…well when I let someone up inside of me…it’s because there is some degree of love that’s there. I ain’t just fucking for fuck sake, if that were the case… I’d be walking around here with a fat ass swollen and chafed pussy.
I’m not.
If you really want to know…which I know you don’t…
My pussy is in need of some fucking petting…or is that fucking and petting.
Either or…she’s neglected.
With that said…I was in love…and as the norm concerning this woman…love don’t look good on me…or maybe, I’m not the bus love need to hop on.

So back to him being in me and now me ending it badly and how he won’t let shit just die and me re-thinking a great decision but feeling like bitchassness may not be all that bad to immerse myself in.
Dude…
Come the fuck on…Let it fucking die.
Because the constant barrage on my ears, heart, mind, soul…are going to have me go back to some bullshit that’s just as unacceptable now as it was then.
I’m a weak woman …me in all my bitchassness.

This was that fairytale shit that I wished for…finding out three quarters of the way through it, that it’s not quite the fucking picket fence…but I saw a possibility that I hadn’t seen in too many other people…so I settle for some half way shit that leaves me compromised and …lonely in a situation that requires two.
Yet, because I wanted it so bad…I settled on making this relationship work all by myself…and that “us” that somehow mystically converted to just me, rather than a couple…put a strain on me.
I can’t participate anymore.
I think I have said that…again and again…and possibly a couple more times while no one was listening.
So I’m…ignoring phone calls…but what about work? How many times do I quietly push the release button praying he doesn’t call back? How many times do I push “ignore” on my cell phone? How many times do I hear his voice on voice mail and quickly delete it before I can hear that voice that makes my heart cry.

Can a heart do that?
Cry? ‘Cause I feel like someone has taken it and wrung it out like a washcloth…tiny drops of love are dripping out and …it feels like tears.
You ever had your love leak out of your heart… it’s just as wretched as sobbing while your eyes turn red and get puffy and your nose snots up…and then comes the racking of your shoulders…and that love…that leaked out of your heart…now becomes those huge gulps of air because not only have you reached a hysterical sob but it’s now become a panic attack… because you want to make sure all the love doesn’t leak out because you need to save some for.. the next love.
And you panic because you feel the need to exorcize whatever remains of your “happily ever after” because anything you felt for him…has to be removed so you don’t dwell on it a second longer. You become irrational in your thinking and trying to convince yourself that your better off even though your brain keeps flashing those damn memories in your minds eye, of looking into each others eyes, of walking hand and hand, of playfully wrestling, of nights in each others arms, of a time when you felt safe and protected.
So you resolve to not cry anymore.
You straighten your shoulders…look yourself in the mirror and promise yourself that not one more drop…
…not one more muthafucken drop is coming out of you over him.
You start to get mad at yourself for having feelings.
Knowing it’s natural but hating yourself for falling for that okey-doke…okey-doke being love and you being the love-less in that love affair.
You’re mad because you’ve been in this same muthafucken place before and you are saying now what you said then…but back then, you were telling yourself to never let shit get this far again…
And your anger makes you stubborn and your stubborn-ness makes you…
Wash your face, splash some cold water and you try to resume your mundane and routine life…knowing that this episode will come back again…and you’ll promise yourself again...
…not one more muthafucken drop.
A heart should not cry over love…