Give it all to him and meet him at the finish line. Beyonce, “Countdown”
I always revert to selfishness when I’ve ended a “relationship” but it’s simply because I’m tired. Men wear me out. I’m worn to the point I put my headphones in when I walk home even if the music isn’t on. Just so that I can ignore people without getting an attitude in return. Maybe it’s just Harlem. Maybe they just love me out here but I can’t help to wonder… why does everyone try their luck? From little boys with back-packs coming home for the YMCA to old men with canes almost getting hit by cars because they’re not paying attention to the right thing. No, you cannot have “5 seconds” of my time, love.. “I only have 4,” I respond as I keep walking.You’re up to no good. You don’t want anything but to be involved. To store my number in your contacts lists just to say you did it. Just to try. Just to see. I don’t want to see anymore because looks are far too deceiving. I’m not ready to wait and these men aren’t ready to go. Either that or their too ready. Seems no one is in the same race as I am. No one is rowing at the same speed as I am. They either leaving me pulling all the weight or they turn me in circles. With that said… I’m in the middle of the lake by myself. Luckily, I know how to swim.
I’ve been too eager to fall in love. I’m too ready. Too willing. Too easy to be taken advantage of. The problem is, I am exactly where I want to be right now. I’m not giving up on love (Never have. Never will.) but I’m going to stay right here and wait for it to catch up. I don’t want anything to do with anyone. I love men. Lots. But… I can’t stand to give them any attention anymore. My phone has nothing in it that interests me. Too young. Too old. Too shy. To forceful. To in love already. Too distant. Too, too much. I’m sorry to break the news, but if I already know you, you have no chance with me. If it were going to happen it already would have.
I moved to NY and eloped with Money. Career Job Money is his full name. I call him “Cash” when I’m playing & “Bank” when I mean it. and he’s never lead me wrong. There are plenty people out there who think my Job rules my life. He doesn’t, I just give him all the time he needs and more. I let him know that I’ll be there. That I’m dependable. He can count on me. He needs to know that I love him more than anything else. He also makes me wait. He tests me. He quiets down. He makes me wonder what will come next. I worry consistently that I’ll lose him. So I fight. I fight hard. I put in extra hours even when I’m not needed. Since I’m in the early stages of this relationship, I know he needs to see my dedication. He needs to measure my capacity and witness my endurance.
At this moment, I can’t extend myself for anyone who doesn’t have me on payroll. I can only carry one obligation. Whoever my future husband is, he’s somewhere out there doing the same thing I am: putting his heart on hold. I wonder, sometimes, if its the right move. Am I going to end up alone with 50 cats? (s/o to my boo Karmah for that). I hope not. And I’m not ready to start fearing that. It becomes a struggle to have to choose between your personal life and work life. My co-workers tell me I should go out more. I should date. I should… whatever. They haven’t told me to buy my mom a house yet. Nor will they help me do so. And so, I sit at my desk, Monday – Friday, steadily typing away at this keyboard. Working even when I’m not working. I have my eyes on the prize: A finish line made of dollar signs.
It’s hard. I pretend like its not…Well, I don’t pretend, I just push through & make it look easy. Things change when you being to focus on yourself instead of a man. Instead of anything else. I dress for me. I cook for me. I clean for me. I work for me. I shop for me. I smile for me. I read for me. I write for me. I excel for me. I thrive for me. I breathe for me. I don’t do anything for anyone else. Now, this could be a good or bad thing, but I now know what it feels like to have things done for me –even if I’m just doing it myself. It allows me to see more clearly what a nigga isn’t doing for me. You don’t notice when a man isn’t there for you if you’re used to abandoning yourself. You don’t notice how many meals he hasn’t treated you to unless you take yourself to dinner. If I can take myself out to dinner, hunny, you can take me, too. And if you can’t… there are more serious problems you need to handle. So.. I’m going to fall back and let you handle those.
I suppose I have to wait until I make it to the top and meet my man there. That’s the only way we’ll both know for sure that financials aren’t stressing a relationship. BEcause as much as I want ot see past $$$$$$$ I can’t. I can’t ignore it. I don’t care where you’re from or what you’ve done. I don’t hold children against you and don’t write them off as mistakes. But every time I get into something with someone, I try to make sure our end goals will align. #Secretly, I even do the math to make sure his finances check out. Theoretically, they always do at first. That is until he goes broke and asks you to buy him a $10 Boost card. #Fail. Too many things went wrong with Kendell. Something about child support. A frozen account. A check gone. The Boost card (smh). He brought over his work uniform for me to wash, “You should be grateful a nigga has a work uniform,” he said. I laughed it off, wondering if he was right. I know w uniform means a job, but I’d rather a man with shirts and pants that need dry cleaning. I fought myself all day before I got home and washed the clothes. I even hung them to dry (I’m notorious for shrinking shit). On our last day together. I folded them and handed them to him. There was no “Thank you,” and for that I thank him.
You have to pay close attention. A person is who they are especially when they’re pretending to be someone else. You’ve got to stop talking so much. Sometimes, you’re so invested int hem and listening to what they have to say and sharing your “feelings” that you don’t get through to your true feelings. You don’t observe yourself. I had told him previously that I was feeling unappreciated. A Thank You would have solved that whole problem. Still, he was so concerned with what he needed done for him, that I always came second #TripleEntendre. I couldn’t keep waiting on him like that. I needed my pleasure and satisfaction to take precedence.
A Queen, to a King, is a God. You should be able to slave all day for your man and treat him like royalty. He should know that there is no one above him. That you respect none other like you do him. But he should treat you even better. A King should give a Queen a castle in return for a kiss. But then again, men don’t want to be men and women don’t want to be women. Women don’t want to take care of the house and men won’t pay the bills. Men don’t want to care for their children so women don’t want any. This world is fucked up, I tell ya. I’ve complained before that there are no men out there. Simultaneously, men complain about the lack of women. I’ve excused myself from that discussion.
I now know I need a King. Meanwhile, I’ll watch your throne; Penelope to your Odysseus.
Just make sure You come back home.
Forever, Truthfully Yours,