Somebody Like Me

Awwwww shit.

Here comes the uncomfortable feelings.

The ones that come when I don't have a man by my side.

I'm going to try to explain what I'm feeling, which is hard because I don't really believe half of this mess.

I feel good, for the most part.

I feel free.

Like, I've been sleeping with clean laundry on the other side of the king bed for days now.

Cus it ain't nobody to come in here and move it somewhere else – more than likely to the pile of dirty clothes and then I would have to start all the way back over with separating the stuff back out.

Free as in I can take whatever phone call I need to at whatever time of the night, cus I ain't got nobody clockin my night and weekend minutes.

Free like, open season free.

And that's the part I don't like.

Cus this is the part that I usually fuck up.

To be real, old Ci would have some rebound dick lined up already.

Cus I heard the best way to get over one is to jump on another one.

But today, that sounds silly to me.

I don't want no damn penis.

What's that gone do besides imbalance my pH and take my body count up?

I want other shit like companionship. And trust. And dependability.

Assistance. Intelligence. Support.

And if it all came with an eggplant, that would only be a bonus.

Definitely not on my list of things I need to survive.

This is the stage that I would usually mess up.

Because I would have myself on some online dating site, sifting through the married dudes and the ones just looking for a hookup.

And that shit is exhausting.

I mean, I signed up but I literally don't have the time or the energy.

Here's how that goes:

Swipe – lies. Swipe – you ugly. Swipe – why you can't show your face? Swipe – great profile, but he wouldn't want nobody like me.

Skkkkrrrrttt

Now what the fuck is that supposed to mean Ciarra Nicole Covin?

What exactly is someone like you?

You mean the part of you that has mastered putting others before yourself?

Or is it the hustle side of you. The one that won't allow you to sit inside of a sinking boat and not try to figure out how to make it work again?

Or you talking bout the honest piece? Like how you rather just put everything on the table so the other person doesn't have to guess.

Of course she's not talking about that.

Duh.

It's the HIV and HSV parts.

The single, divorced mom part.

The facial hair and unpregnant, pregnant belly part.

Ain't no man, worth a damn, gone accept me with all of that shit. It's too much baggage.

Swipe – this one might work, he looks like he needs me to accept some shit. Swipe – this photo is from him on the bus. Maybe his car broke down. Swipe – all he needs is a little bit of love. I got you.

Helllllllllllllllllll no!

I am not doing that dumb shit.

Tip: You are not responsible for fixing broken adults. You ain't God.

Ain't a STD or wax strong enough to make me want to travel that road again.

I probably got a few unread messages from all of these knights in rusty armor.

And I can't even bring myself to care to respond.

This is how I know I'm growing.

My priorities are changing and I got shit to do.

And none of this has to do with a man.

And for once, I am extremely proud of myself.

These feelings are uncomfortable but so is trying to make a dead relationship work.

And they sure ain't as bad as finding out you somebody's side chick.

Definitely not.

What not to do: Don't allow discomfort to put you in another uncomfortable situation.

That's dumb.

So, I might actually get up and put some music on today.

I might try to wine this belly away.

Take my HIV meds.

Fold these clothes.

And go play in the mirror with some tweezers.

I'm already tired thinking of all the things I could be doing, instead of jumping on another stranger's dick.

It ain't even worth the soul tie.

+ Ci Ci +

This blog was originally posted on Healing is Voluntary

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Thu, 6/17/2021 - 2:20am
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