It’s that time again.
It’s 2am again.
It’s time to look to the right side of my bed and feel sad.
It’s time to wonder why it’s still empty.
It’s time for me to make a list of why it is empty.
It’s time for me to be ******* myself.
It’s time for me to wonder where I went wrong.
It’s time for me to make a list of all my mistakes.
It’s time to feel sorry for myself.
It’s time for me to break my own heart.
Again.
It’s time for me to play over what men have said to me in the past.
It’s time for my old tinder messages to haunt me.
“Unless I can eat that *** and ***** from the back before marriage Christian girls aren’t as fun.”
“Would you be interested in a nice thick 8 inch ****?”
“I’m looking for a more physically intimate relationship.”
It’s time for me to remind myself the reason why my bed is empty.
Men want the one thing that I can’t give them,
And without my body I am nothing to them.
All I am is what’s between my legs and what’s under my shirt.
And with my legs crossed and my top on,
what could I possibly offer them?
It’s time for me remember that while my choice maybe the right choice,
It’s also the lonely choice.
It’s time for me to remember that even though it feels like it’s my fault,
It’s not.
It’s time for me to daydream until I fall asleep.
Again.