I remembered birthdays, comforted, affirmed, listened. I literally loved people back to life. I let my home be a place the men I chose could come for peace of mind and a piece of pleasure.
My dad was right: “You take men to the moon. For nothing.”
Only, what I wanted was never transactional. I was never after a pocket. I wanted a heart.
So I treated you how I wanted you to treat me. I gave to you how I wanted you to give to me. I made your pleasure my pleasure in hopes that some of that would come back my way. And you never had to think twice. I was clear. I told you what you needed to know to understand me.
In the quiet—when it was just you and me—was I not free of guards and bravado? You accessed my walls. You got your favorite high. I know I am a divine dopamine hit. And yet, you did not reciprocate.
And here’s the thing: it wasn’t your fault that I didn’t require you to show up for me equal to or greater than. That was on me.
But I can see it now. Your presence on my block lets me know your cup is empty. And here you are again, wanting my love, attention, and empathy. Because I don’t just make you hard, I give you softness. I massage you out of your head and into your body. I affirm the truths God speaks about you.
My guard is up not because I’m a bitch, but because I am a giver by nature. And I am tired of fucking and giving to takers.
So this time, I have nothing but well-wishes and boundaries. A few quips and side-eyes. Self-respect and so much damn pride.
If you want to come, come differently. But I am not your comfort. Not your safe space. Not the woman alchemizing your energy for your benefit.
I want to come, so I am coming differently. I am treating me how I want to be treated.
