wor[u]th more

I am a free bird. See me soar so high, but keep an eye on the ground.

I feel ‘super single’. I don’t know if I made that up, or if I’m just high off of being emotionally shut down. but I feel like the idea of a boyfriend might make me vomit. Gross and crude, very unladylike, but no less the truthful.

I see each of my girlfriends having boy troubles while my dudes have bitch problems. Seems like your 20s aren’t made for forming lifelong relationships. I don’t understand how pregnant teenagers seem so certain they found their soul mate living down the street their whole lives.

But I’m not a robot. I can’t just stop all romantic possibilities. I have needs. Some that only a male can fulfill. So, I keep my eye open. I don’t hunt or chase, merely observe and access. Maybe poke.

And as with my age, my standards have risen. No more first come, first serve romances. I’ve been on too many first only dates. The pickings maybe slim but so am I and I don’t need to settle when I have so much to offer.

Now before this sounds like some feminist ‘hate men, love yourself’ rant, I’d like to create a listing of what I truly, really want. If this guy is your brother, cousin, or whatev- I demand an introduction.

I want a six-pack with tattoos on his ribs. I want to press up against something hard, tall, thick and delicious. I want him to hold the nape of my neck when he kisses me and runs his thumb across my jaw. I want forehead kisses. I want thick, soft lips and green eyes, black hair, and freckles on dark skin.

He won’t have me, he’ll take me. He’ll fuck like a man and not like a boy. He’ll make me orgasm cause he’ll know when, how, and what position I like. He’ll be comfortable about his dick size because he’ll have a big dick and know how to use it.

He’ll remember I don’t like Thai food and I cry when I eat spicy dishes. He’ll take care of me when I’m sick. Or hung over. He’ll send love letters via snail mail and never expect me to write back.

He doesn’t put product in his hair and he smells nice. He plays piano. And recites lines of poetry but can’t remember who said it. He’s witty, and likes banter and puns.

He cooks. Everyday. Really fucking well.

I’m proud of him. Both of his character and career. My family loves him and his likewise. I couldn’t be any more in love than with him. We understand and love each other despite our flaws. We are better, happier people together growing stronger as individuals.

— guess I’m not super single. I’ll try again tomorrow.

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