So "you love me and always will," eh?
"How do I know that I'm not the dream girl that you want in that dream mansion with you someday?"
So you want to "treat me like a queen," eh?
You "miss listening to me," huh? Was that the sounds in the bedroom or the conversations that we had that you miss hearing?
Do you know who you love? You love that image on your phone as your hand strokes your genitals to ejaculation. Your dream girl is this fiesty rapunzel you keep locked away in your bedroom and out of sight of your friends. Your queen is a dull smile and an accidental touch to your back at the absolute most. You want to hear the sound of my voice, but you do not want to listen.
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You're watching porn in bed, I'm just trying to sleep my drunk off so I can drive home. Somehow I become a target. My jeans get ripped open, fingers are shoved inside of me, all while I'm screaming "No, I'm married!" (quietly, however, because we are not alone in the living room). You're drunk too, so you do not listen--not that you would have. I don't know if you got off, in fact I can't remember what happened next. I just remember leaving the next morning, but I know you told me you loved me.
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It's the same story over and over. Before, during and after my marriage. I'm too much, too drunk, too emotional, too social, too much of all of it but goddamit you "love" me. You love me so much you tell me what photos I post that you jerk off to (when that was far from my intention). You love me so much that you wish me a "good morning beautiful" and tell me that I will soon see how real your love is---weeks later, and I haven't so much as seen your face. You love me so much that whilst still married you would write me dirty paragraphs and dare me to drive to a secret place and reply. You love me so much that you let the janitor at your work believe he has a chance with me when I've only ever been to your work to hug on you. You love me so much that you insist that you'll wait until I'm ready when I am very persistent that we are going to remain just friends. You love me so much that you'll call me at precisely 1:40am, right as last call is happening, and ask "wanna meet up?" You miss me so much that you'll like every single photo I post on instagram, regardless of content, but you won't write a single message to me. You miss me so much you'll send me a photo of your phallus and ask me to "help you get off" when I have never once sent you a photo exposing any amount of my skin whatsoever. But this is normal. This is what love is. Well, at least the love y'all are talking about.
No! I don't wanna meet up. No! I don't want to help you get off. No! I don't want that kind of attention. I never did. I just thought if I lured you with sweetness and smiles that you may cherish the moments of vulneranility I gave you. Not once did you ever. You stole those moments from me, calling an orgasm or lack-there-of a full payment. Just get drunk with her, then maybe for a few hours you can turn her into your own Carmen Electra. That must be what you're thinking.
I am worth more than that. An orgasm is like a sandwich, I can get it anywhere or make one myself. You are not special just because my eyes roll to the back of my head and I scream. In order to be considered special, in order to be given any non-pessamisamistic, non-complaining, non-man-hating, not passive aggressive attention from me you've gotta be honest with me and let me in. You've gotta hold me and ask if I need anything. You must care. Loving my cleavage or the lips of my vagina might do you well in your imagination, but that is a fantasy and I am no fantasy. I'm a woman. A beautiful woman. A strong woman. An intelligent woman. The creavaces of my brain will wow you far more than the squeeze of my groin.
I'm tired of being treated like the girl in the magazine. I'm sure those pages are sticky and wrinkled and "well loved" but I am not. I am young and I have such a heart to offer. Leave me alone in the corners of your imagination where I belong because in real life I am way too good for you. I deserve a man who makes me feel so cherished and so stunning that I spend my whole day being beautiful at everything I do and in all of it find ways to make him proud and show him how much I adore him and sparkle in the magnificence of his attention. I deserve a man so respectful and yet tantilizingly sensual that he makes my body quiver. I do not need another admirer, I need a man who brings me bricks with which to build our empire together.
I am a fool for ever handing you my vulnerability and accepting any other payment than respect and dedication. I am a fool even more for ever holding on to the idea that when you said you love me, you actually mean it.
