I need you to read this when you wake up. Please. That’s the first thing out my mouth. Please don’t go…Baby I wanted to write for you but I didn’t want to do it under these circumstances…I’ve been sitting here. I’ve been thinking about you. At first I was sad because i felt like you weren’t gonna be able to handle me. And I put the stress of our relationship all on you not being able to do that. I thought about how you asked me to love my body, yet you don’t have full confidence in yourself either. Baby just like you want me to love my body, I want you to love who you are. You’re not DUMB or STUPID. Don’t call yourself that. And don’t ever think that I would degrade you and call you such names. You’re smart and caring and you have a wonderful mind of your own.

SO, I put the blame on you. But the more I sat and thought about it, the more I realized that that wasn’t fair. I have never in my life tried to compromise who I am for a man. Never. And I told myself I would never do that. But WHO THE FUCK AM I to expect men to adapt to me, and to never have to do the same? Baby I’m WRONG for that. I’m so wrong. I can adjust for you. I can get off my fucking high horse and love you right…I can stop being picky… I’ve been told so many times by dudes that there is no perfect man. And they all have flaws. Just like I have my flaws with my anger, you are just a bit sensitive. And baby I don’t care.

When I look at you, I see my FUTURE. That’s no joke babe. I see us and passionate sex and kisses. I see me asking you to get something off the top shelf for me. I see me beating your ass in CoD and talking shit about it. I see me waking up to you. I see us talking for ours on the phone. I see us laughing while grocery shopping. I see so much baby…How stupid would I be to let you go? How much of a bitch would I be if I didn’t try hard to make us work? If I really want your last name I know I need to work for it. Just like I expect you to work for my love…I need to work for yours. And I will. I’ve already been working on pushing you away by texting you soon after. I will get better. Please baby don’t leave me. I’m just starting to cry right now thinking about it. Baby don’t leave. You said you can’t just be my friend, and you want to be more. Well baby i feel the same way. Please please please don’t leave me…Don’t go…I love you. Please baby don’t go…

I’m just gonna write. Just get it all out of my system. For as long as I can remember, You have been my dream man. You know how you drool over a celebrity, and dream of a chance to go out with them? You are my celebrity. I have been in love with you since I can remember. Once upon a time, I would have killed to be your girl. Any bitch you were talking to I would have slayed! And then life went on. And I got tired of being called a bitch. I got tired of trying to be with someone who didn’t care about me. When you were lonely, I was there. And when you were done with me, you tossed me aside. Like you said, I always check on you…After you left me, I’d sulk. And I’d wait. And then I’d check on you…And it’d start all over again. Eventually, I told myself I was worth more than that. And I stopped checking up on you. But I don’t know why I did the last time. I thought of you, and sometimes my thoughts make me do things. Maybe I checked on you again because you tried so hard to figure out who I was. Or maybe because I thought I could try one last time…But it was the same. You didn’t want to be with me, you wanted to be friends or whatever I don’t know. But I knew that I didn’t want to be your friend. But you kept texting me! God, why were you texting me. I wanted to tell you to fuck off. There was no point in being friends. You were never gonna love me, so I didn’t need you. You loved someone else, and that was all I needed to know. But we talked. Until I ended up being a bitch again. And I was done. I was so done. And you text me, something about whether I wanted to fuck you at least. I knew it was you. And you text me again. “I miss you weirdo”. I saved that text. I don’t know why. I save a lot of your texts. And because I didn’t have any interest in holding a grudge, I talked to you. We talked about whatever. The past. Whatever was happening throughout the day. And you started being nice. Like what the fuck? Saying you loved me or whatever. Some bullshit like that. After all that has recently happened, why is it all of the sudden different? Why do you now all of a sudden want to see me and bond with me and all? I don’t know. But I drove to see you. And it was great. I enjoyed every minute of it. I do love you. And part of loving you is being attracted to you. And wanting to have all your kids. And loving the feeling of your arms around me, hand on my thigh, body against mine. I love you. I do. But the longer I am away from you, the more I begin to doubt that you really love me. I’ve been hurt so bad. By others. By you. I don’t need it. I don’t deserve it. I can’t just believe that this is it. That this is my chance. I mean I want to. I want to be your girl. But it doesn’t make sense. Either you really have wised up, or you’re just tired of being lonely. Honestly, I can’t tell.

when the boys pull your hair and push you to the ground
during recess
I promise not to tell you that it’s because they like you.
when the teachers call home to tell me that
you pushed them to the ground in return
I’ll take you out of school early and buy
you your favorite ice cream.
when you get older and the boys
try to touch you when you don’t want to be touched
I’ll look at you like the sun when you come home
with anger in your fists.
they all tell you not to fight fire with fire
but that is only because they are afraid of your flames.
when the boys yell after you like hyenas
you yell back, baby.
I will not teach you to be afraid of your anger
so that you look for it in others.
I will not make you be the better person
because you already are.
you wanna fight ‘em? fight ‘em.
don’t you dare apologize for the fierce love
you have for yourself
and the lengths you go to preserve it.
when the boys try to tell you to soften up
I hope you make them bleed with your edges.
I hope you remember that you are not theirs
that their disappointment in you is not yours.
when the boys come to your door with pretty words and
angry eyes
I hope you show them the anger in yours.
I hope you show them just how strong your mommy
thinks you are.
I hope you show them the animal they can’t always
see in their own reflection.
when the boys come with the intention of hurting you
my advice will always stay the same, my darling:
give ‘em hell.

when the boys come | Caitlyn S. (via zombiebondage)

I will tell this to my daughter.

(via mrfuturepresident)

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