Do you still want to be married to me, or was I more of a maid of honor? When the officiant said I do, I thought I was tying the knot with someone that wanted the same thing. Lately I’ve felt a disconnect between us. I want to lie and say I don’t know why, but I do. As I keep trying to pull you back in, I’m realizing you don’t want the same things anymore. You’ve seemed to outgrow me in ways I just can’t keep up. We need to divorce. It’s time to let go. You’re so beautiful and I’m grateful to have had the chance to experience the old you. You don’t need my validation anymore. I remember when the words to have and to hold were said. You can hold on your own. We got too comfortable. I’ll miss holding the old you in our bed. You’ve opened a new door with someone who can love you better. I remember they said your momma was too pretty to be your momma. So you attract the baddest of the baddest as if you’re casting for the main role. Dizzy spells spelt all over the floor because you no longer internalize every single thing anymore. Now you’re racing circles around everyone, causing vertigo. Don’t worry, I’ve gotten the hint it’s also my time to go.

100% Style Score

I’m worth more than a few licks between my legs. More than your legs caressing a sacred place I sometimes call home. You do it so well in making me believe I’m the true source of what you need, even though I know deep down I’m really not what you want or need. Love me, I’m a touch me please. Not just your side piece. I like Reeces, but that doesn’t mean take all my pieces until I have nothing
left for me. Yes I’m a masc, but I don’t mask who I am. For I am and will always be a woman. Underneath these clothes are vulnerability, desire, needs that you refuse to see. Stop intentionally making my femininity irrelevant. You’re not the only one who wants to be bent. You see, that toxic masculinity has your mind so skewed it’s almost impossible to fix. I refuse to try and try again only to learn over and over again, my love is simply not enough to carry the both of us. I want things that don’t qualify as a “true masc woman”, but you withhold things from me simply because you choose to see me as a placeholder. I’m not your filler man until you get who you really want. I’m not a fantasy. I’m reality. Hold me, dominate, reciprocate. Keep going until I see the heavenly gates. A simple question would’ve provided the answers. I keep it real simple. Loving me is not a game. It’s a privilege.

When I ask the most intricate parts of myself what is the goal, they respond in the most sweetest and saddest way. “Lauryn you can either expand, be complacent or smaller”. Will this year be better the same or worse? I would most certainly love for the goal to be me expanding so wide there’s only room for the things that will benefit me. Expanding the uncomfortableness so much it pops into extraordinary memories that’s so vivid I can truly see. Doing things only the childhood Lauryn imagined. Don’t die Lauryn stay alive. That has always been the ultimate goal. When the pain is overwhelming me with doubts and fears of abandonment, confusion, control your emotions so they don’t swallow you whole. Let that be the goal. Being certain in my uncertainties has allowed me to envision the worst and best at times. Thinking 100 miles per hour, but moving so damn slow. Lauryn go. Don’t slip into the what if category. Dont get caught and arrested by the imposter police because it’s hard to get out and simply be free and believe you can do things. I must let myself know to go. Let that be my ultimate goal.

71% Style Score