Free Milk

I'm weary of being an emotional whore...a soft squishy sponge. I find myself taking in all the goodness that looks and feels like love, soaking it up and then watching it seep through my pores. Wet and warm it is, but in reality, not so bueno. You see, when I ring out...there's nothing. Nothing left but a little moistness, which eventually becomes a stale mildewy scent in my mind. I'm quite exhausted of loving and obsessing over the fantasy. The craving of it is getting old, when deep down in my soul, I know that shit isn't happening. If it was going to happen, it would've played out already. So many reasons for it not to, but not one reason why it could. So enough is enough.

Love doesn't mean a damn thing when not watered or fed, stroked, appreciated or reciprocated.

So why put it first? Don't get me wrong...I love love. It's soft, sweet and so optimistic...even without the dangle of marriage. Because let's be real. Love, within itself, is truly a commitment anyway. Do I really need to promise God in front of all my family and friends that I'm going to never leave - when quite frankly, I'm not really sure? Well, that's another thought for another day.

The point is, I've decided to STOP being that squishy sponge... a seduced victim of the "yummy" these men call love, care, desire, need, lust...whatever sounds good to them.

"I care about you, baby".

No, you care about yourself and consistently display that lie into the mirror to make you feel better about drinking my milk for free. Well, no more free milk. You have to pay for it. And I don't necessarily mean with money, although I will take that. You have to give me the best of you. I need your top shelf self if you even want the opportunity to experience my love, care, desire, need or lust.

It's funny to me how some men think they are better than the others because their frosting is sweet, chocolate and smooth like I like it. While the competition may be coated with an old and hard sugar crusted frosting. Well, let me just tell you...A donut is a fucking donut. And it doesn't really matter which kind you are in the big scheme of things. If the end result is the same (which is me leaving the scene unfulfilled), then it's like a group of toy soldiers standing in front of me - not one distinction among any of them.

My new focus is simple. I am done with the lie...moving forward and seeking new opportunities to experience what I deserve...which is the best of the best. No more appeasing emotional strokes with whispers of, "You like that, baby. How's this? Is that enough?" No, it's not enough anymore.

I once told someone my pussy is priceless. The question is how much am I willing to accept to allow the right man to enjoy it. I was joking (well kinda). But, that is definitely true in regards to me as a lover and friend, the value of my time and how I'm going to treasure myself.

I'm going to miss the cookies I've been eating...so comforting and tasty at that moment. And I know my milk will be missed. But it's time to shelf it now and wait it out for a little bit of pay back.

-C