Everybody knows how much I despise hoes, but for those who don’t know…
I could go in about how your vagina is a revolving door; welcoming any visitor that pushes hard enough to bust those doors wide open. And she is a revolving door because referencing her as a car with excessive mileage would indicate that there is only one driver and we all know that the seats in your car are worn from more than one body. She is a revolving door because often times the same ones that went through it the first time, go in and out of it countless times afterwards. It’s a cycle she can’t stop; either because she honestly can’t or because she doesn’t want to.
I could go in about how your thirst for attention is more than that of a person lost for days in the Sahara Desert, willing to take a sip of anything that anyone offers. You wear your sexuality like a cape, wrapped around your breasts and draped below your ass to the curves of your thighs; but you’re no real superhero. If you were, you’d save yourself. I giggle when you try to play coy, like no-one can see the neon light “Choose me” written over your head. It’s cute, you even decorated it with a welcome mat and tinsel for the holidays. Cute.
I could go in about how you give yourself up like free candy thrown carelessly at a Christmas parade, all someone has to do is reach up and catch what you’re clearly putting out. It’s like your eyes are an easy button and every time someone looks into them, they can have you. Your time, your energy, your body, your acts of kindness; they come at no cost. Just a little bit of attention here, a little bit of affection there, SOLD! To the last guy that called you “bad”. You auction off yourself for breadcrumbs, are you really that starved for a “man”?
I’m not going to go in though. That would mean that I’m upset by your hoe-ness, nah, I actually feel bad for you.
I’m sorry that every day you look in the mirror and don’t recognize the reflection, you can’t possibly see yourself when you clearly don’t know who you are. Your definition of who you are is completely fabricated by opinions of those around you; the good, the bad, the ugly. Your worth is measured by the number of “likes” you get and your value is only apparent when validated. You lean on acceptance and desirability from others and for that I feel bad for you.
You are not whole, you are broken and you look to fill the empty spaces with temporary fulfillments that don’t last far past the moment you’re in when you get them. Your temporary fixes damage your permanent possibilities. You thrive on the high from living in the moment but go through teary-eyed withdrawls in solitude. You sabotage any opportunity you ever have at real love, from men AND women, and for that I feel bad for you.
I have to admit, you have a certain type of appeal, something that draws people into you. It’s kinda like seeing a child fall and scrape their knee –you just want to help make them feel better, to make them stop crying. Or like seeing a wounded animal, stuck, unable to break free of a trap. Being incomplete, I know you feel empty — but do you really think a penis can fill that void? No one can help/save you but you, so enjoy that warm body next to you tonight because we both know that in the morning you’ll wake up to that same cold, sad, emptiness when daybreaks.
Just a word to the wise, who you attract has a large part to do with who you are. Save yaself.