Yes, I do have a jar of hearts on my shelf… alongside a jar of bruised egos. If your heart is so tender & flimsy that it can be broken by a woman whom you’ve never had a chance with in the first place… your heart deserves to be pickled in the pain of a jar. Second, that ego that’s beaten & bruised wining like a little bitch in the corner with a blue bonnet on & a taffy… disguised as sumthin’ harmless…. should be ashamed of itself for even existing.
Wipe the drool off your face & smack the dirty smirk right down the drain of your vampire stare, your dorm daze are over. No more secret cameo appearances in the scenes of my life. Take your blankie & go suck sum one else’s energy field with unwanted attention. Your greedy ulterior motives can take a hike right down the highway to hell.
The jar of bruised egos up on my shelf is now capped & vacuumed shut like a poisonous canned sauce. No getting out or in. Just a trip to the river will do. A heavy toss out the window into the air of contention, will disarm you. No more taking up space on my shelf. And as for the jar of hearts there? I will feed them to the frogs out back. All the ones I’ve kissed.
I’m done….! Zip, zap, over, ca-put, ca-pat, cap-plew-ey…. with drawing all wrong dudes. Let me be Medusa to their intentions. Let their ill vibes shrivel up in the heat of my Zen zone. Let their raunchy fantasies be smashed into smithereens by my laser sharp intuition. Let their insecurity, insincerity, lack of self-control, hidden motives, disguised disrespect and self-aggrandizing disposition ban together to go gather sum sticks & thorns into bouquets for their own funeral.
In my life, there is no place for your face. Thank you for walking right passed me from now on. I dodge man bullets. There should be a master class on dodging man bullets. Its easy. I could teach it.
I do not accept any adverse advances. I am admired, respected, & recognized for my talent, skills, abilities, style, intellect, presence & shining spirit. My sexual energy is innately powerful. I own it. I don’t have to share it just because you think I should. I don’t automatically become your whore on a stick that you can have at your disposal just cause your dick is hard & your feeling confident. Crawl back into your cave of trolls. Looking seems to have become a form of lurking… & sorry honey… but to touch is a bonified privilege that you have not earned.
For the record… ya know another privilege you did not earn? Talking dirty to me or cursing at me or telling me to shut up or demanding either my attention, answer, or compliance. I don’t owe you shit just cause you buy me a drink or pay me a compliment. Just because I may exhibit or express a beautiful, sexual, striking, attractive, alluring, strong, or lovable female presence, doesn’t give any man a right to cross boundaries. Just because a woman is comfortable with her identity, doesn’t give every Tom, Dick & Harry… a green light to drive up onto her lawn & snap a bunch of pictures. Stay in your own lane. Keep your grimy hands to yourself, your creepy comments to the bathroom wall & try your luck elsewhere, buddy.
Wash your ashtray mouth out with soap & take your beer breath to the next bar. I’m not your girl. I’m not your one. I’m not the answer to your dreams. I’m not your fantasy come true. I’m not your third-party solution to your marital problems. I’m not a swinger. I’m not a hooker. I’m not your recreational hookup. I’m not your toy. I’m not your booty call. I’m not sum floozy you can swing your limp dick at or shove your tongue into. I’m not your obsession. I’m not your drug. I’m not your dumping station, punching bag or rag doll. And I’m certainly not your therapist or sex teacher. Get over yourself. What kind of woman would I be… if I allowed any of that? I’d be a clueless asshole… just like you. Next please….
Do me a favor? Take your baggage, issues, dysfunctional emotions, clogged chakras, unresolved past relationships, fraudulent friendship, spiritual desert, anger management, contempt for women, ulterior motives & ill intentions & make like a drum & beat it. Make like a tire & hit the road. Make like a banana & split. Make like a bird & flock off. Let’s just pretend I have a giant mean ex-con bodyguard boyfriend who will wipe that dirty grin right off your filthy face… if you come any closer.
Thanks, but no thanks. I was trying to be nice. But Mr. nice guy went right out the window with the little lady who pretends like your shit is kosher, appropriate or acceptable. Next time you even remotely think… of coming at me in any kind of improper way…. think again. Because…. me & Miss Karma are sisters. We bust egos, break hearts, teach hard lessons & speak uncomfortable truths. Brutal honesty is our forte & vultures & vampires we eat for dinner. Don’t play with fire.
I am one phoenix engulfed in flames that you do not want to mess with. This bitch will poke your eyes out & pan sear your penis. To all the men out there… a word of advice: watch who u cross. You never know who you’re dealing with.
Women come from all walks of life. Many are traumatized, have P.T.S.D., have been abused; assaulted; discriminated against; used; hurt; harmed; disrespected; mistreated; manipulated; cheated on; betrayed; berated; beat; violated; abandoned; abused; oppressed; repressed; scolded; controlled; screamed at; belittled; degraded; damaged; & quite frankly… suffered at the hands of a man.
In neon big bold letters>>>>WATCH WHO YOU CROSS…. gentlemen. Cause u may cross the wrong one. And, it will not be your lucky day.
Written by: JZapparelli
Circa: Summer 2017