He chooses something or someone else over me
all the time
every moment of the day he is sitting alone in a crowd
thinking quietly about me, and what we do together
and he fantasizes about the things that he desires
while he’s living a completely differently temperatured life
My fucking Monster
prefers to have me in mind
but not at his side
His family wouldn’t like it much
if he had a wife and a girlfriend and a humiliatrix
or if he had a wife or a girlfriend and a humiliatrix
if he knew a humiliatrix
they wouldn’t like it if they knew I called him kitty
and he plays like he’s my girlfriend
dressed in frilly pretty things that accentuate his light eyes
and full sexy lips
he is consistently choosing to on social media, and in person,
live a life where I don’t exist,
but in his head, I am the most present and most palpable
like I always have been since the first moment we met
and he begged me to beat him then
still does every time I feel lax and speak
I am the most consistent thing
his favorite imagining
I made him what he is, he lies-
And this is unfair for me to know number one
I should never know what’s going on in someone else’s mind. I have no control over that space anything could be happening there and it’s irrelevant to reality.
However, I do know- Somehow I do control it.
He tells me each opportunity I deign to use to communicate and I’m not happy about that, and yet the life that he’s living is the one that he’s choosing not the one that I am king in.
He’s depressed I guess. Sad and insecure. Weak. A Fucking Bitch.
My Horrible Monster. It’s nothing. I mean nothing. It’s all meaningless. The most meaningful meaningless shit ever.
We are childish and selfish.
He chooses to operate physically in real life and day-to-day activities
pretending every hour long that his cock is caged and under silky panties
but Jesus might find out.
He’s torturing himself technically so as far as I’m concerned
I’m out of a gig…
I’m saying all of this to myself to say that we are the same
and that the way I think about him and what I think about him isn’t real either.
What I’m doing in my life & where I’m going in my life and how I’m spending my life don’t include him truly, anymore.
I wish that we could think of one another as invisible or dead
but because he still thinks of me as alive and present
I feel it
Across the miles, through rooms, on the wind
I know he’s actively listening to whomever
nodding along like a bobblehead
and his mind has wandered to me
again and again and again.
If only I’d reached out one more time so I can talk to my girl
It’s irresistible, like breathing
and when he is sending me these signals it calls him back to the forefront of my own mind and I need to be able to more consistently let the thought go instead of tinkering with it and trying to figure out why it’s there.
My goddamned Monster.
He’s a mind wart now. This is not important.
Neither am I. Neither is he. All of it is irrelevant and temporary.
I just wonder why and I shouldn’t because why is a question I don’t have an answer for and I can’t have an answer for so instead I have to keep reminding myself that whenever I ask the question why I really need to ask myself how-
How am I going to cope or what can I do now…
and how I’m going to cope today is recording this-
Writing it down.
Making it fucking physical so he can learn about making tough choices tangible.
That way I can read it if he comes to the forefront of my mind pleading
to remind myself that what he thinks, and what he does,
both of those things are the comedy in the tragedy-
His desperation doesn’t belong to me. Neither does he.
And now I’m going to figure out what beach is closest to me and go sit on it because that’s what my reality affords me.
I will occupy his mind like a disease for the rest of his life.
At the same time, I do not have to put up with his flaky, irresponsible, manipulative bullshit.
The Monster is a fine ass fucking loser. And he’s sorry too.
He said so.
Plus his family won’t allow for me in the real world.
He’s a puppet for sale and they won the bid, I guess.
I possess him anyway and don’t ever have to deal with him, speak of him, or think of him ever again.
I’m the lucky girl he wishes he could be.
I actually get to spend time inside me.
The Big Greasy Problem with Trying to Domesticate il Mostro
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