And make you watch the first ten rounds of me getting what you can only watch in silence from your computer—-how about that? Not that you can do anything about it. You are powerless over me.
I have moved on, dumped the extra weight, and by summer I’ll be a size 8-10, if not a 6, appropriately even more snooty than I am now, and since you’ve made it so conveniently exclusionary, you will not see me face to face for another YEAR. You will not any part of my body, and that is also reality. You made it supersafe for me, and reaffirmed the reality that we do not have a personal relationship. We are anonymous to each other as a norm.
This will be a very productive year for ME, and your name, already not written or spoken by me in months, will be forgotten in my immediate memory. You wanted this, so you now you have it.
It will be as if we live in a parallel world, but we don’t know each other. I’m setting the boundaries you refused to establish or discuss–but I need you to stay in your privileged place and stop coming here.
You are part of the elite, the dominant or ruling class, therefore, as an outsider I am of no use or purpose to you beyond servant. You have drained me long enough without proper communication or respect for my needs and so I’m done.
You made it clear you have nothing to say to me, so go the fuck away. You had a whole year to sort this out and you spent it treating me like shit. I don’t reward men for being assholes to me, and you are not getting rewarded for what you did to me this summer and this fall.
And before you start, you refused to talk this out, so if you don’t know what I’m talking about, why don’t you ask instead of badgering you-know-who, or lying to your old lady again about me, or you calling her crazy and all that other shit you keep acting like you never said.
See, how can I trust you when you got like, what, three-four different stories you want me to hear that’s supposedly about other people in your family–then you tell other people I’m crazy.
You know what?
Fuck you and your lying tongue, bitchass nigga.
You broke my heart, and I guess I deserve it for my own sinful ways, but nigga, don’t keep coming back to my digital doorway looking for comfort when you consistently gaslight not just me, but your old lady, and whoever else you got coming up you’ve been grooming to replace me. Why don’t you just admit you are a fucking perverted ass motherfucker and you want to do some perverted shit to me with your sex offender little hairy dick?
Men like you don’t like chicks like me who don’t have an issue telling you about yourself, but you got the right one, motherfucker, and today I got time, cuz.
Enjoy the photos, because that’s the closest you’ll get to enjoy my presence in 2021. You are too much of a little bitch to even get close to smelling my cunt hair, so keep that lotion on supply, sport. But if you keep doing that you’ll go blind.
See you at the next streaming meeting–maybe.
I don’t feel like sharing myself with Black men who don’t like themselves, and I especially don’t feel like wasting gigabytes on a sexist, elitist, colorist, lying, bitchmade, bitchass nigga who clearly won’t take the time to get individual or relationship therapy for your fucked-up emotional issues.
Ain’t y’all closer now, anyway?