Skip to main content

lesson learn'd

after reviewing my taste in men

And my sexual history

I've revised my standards to suit my needs:


Big Dick

Money

Boat(s)


Because you can't change men.

And you can't blame men because you can't change them.


But you can convince them to nix the prenup.

Comments

  1. Row row row yo boat gently down the stream. Yeah we row deep
    Creeping creepin tryna peep, can't see us through the steam dats foggin up dis niggas beama, you niggas trippin while we rollin and rowin deep, creamin and facin blunts like ain't nuthin but, cept us niggas rowin our muthafuckin boat cash money bitches, bitches.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

I Can't Hear Your Little Red Rooster

Fright

I call this room Home.

He will not look at me

His eyes flicker with

a speck of violence.



my strained smile,

disgusted by

my pleading eyes.

my veins freeze

icy blood

tearing through coronaries




May Day

'Hope, you don't have to use it on your wedding night.'

She handed the pistol to Hope, right after the vows, right before the reception.

'I'm just kidding, darling. Don't worry. He's a good man. You did well sweetheart. He's a good man. You'll be fine.'

Hope's paper-thin smile tried to grow as she stared at her grandmother's reflection in the mirror. The mother-of-pearl grip sparkled in her grandmother's hand, bathed by the Chapel's cheap buzzing lights.

'There's a bullet for you, just in case.'

Hope had left the gun on the table.

A week earlier, drunk off self-pity, she had taken it out of its case and walked to the kitchen, where she stuck the barrel in her mouth and proceeded to take pictures of herself to send to Ray.

In a rare instance of good fortune, her phone ran out of battery before she could indulge her sense of pithy revenge. She woke up and pried open her tear-salted eyelashes then made sure to delete an…