fatherless behavior 😔🚫✨ the bar’s in hell & your man still shows up late, high, and asking for gas money.

you wanna know
how i know
i’m not the piece of shit?

✨🫶🥺

'cause when
the love of my fucking life
got someone else pregnant—
while we were still
tangled up in love,
in history,
in fucking gravity—
i didn’t fuck that shit up.
i didn’t fight with him about it.
i didn’t fake some pick-me fucking fantasy.

⚠️

i told him:
you need to
be a father.
not for me.
not for her.
for that baby.
for the version of you
that could still
fucking sleep at night.
because
that’s what love fucking is.

and not the watered-down,
instagram-filtered bullshit
you hoes call love—
i’m talking real,
bloody-knuckled,
soul-fucked up love.
love that sacrifices.
love that
doesn’t need a fucking audience.

i loved that kid
sight fucking unseen.
because she was part of him.
because she didn’t ask for the drama.
because if you really love someone,
you don’t pretend
their kid
doesn’t fucking exist
just to stay delusional.
nah, i didn’t erase her.
i made space.
i said
add fucking chairs to the table
not set fire to the house.

damn.

like yeah
i’ve been a lotta things.
absolutely messy.
fucking traumatized.
too forgiving.
but not once have i ever
built my fucking peace
on someone else’s suffering.
not once
did i look at a kid out there
and think “eh, not my problem.”

fucking psycho.

you don’t get points
for empathy
until it costs you something.
and i paid in heartbreak.
in watching the person
i loved
walk straight into a life
that didn’t have me in it,
and still saying fucking go.
be a dad.
be a man.
do the right fucking thing
even if it fucking breaks me.

(it did) 🤫

you know how sick that is?
to love someone enough
to want them whole,
even when their wholeness
means you fucking lose them?
that’s not weakness.
that’s sacred-level fucking strength.

and yeah,
it fucked me up.
it will always fuck me up.
because i meant it.
i tried.
i looked after
the mother.
and it wasn’t
some fake bitchy olive branch—
it was real.
i wanted peace.
i wanted her to know
someone gave a fuck.
even if he didn’t.

and when i saw him again?
didn’t ask if he missed me.
didn’t beg for closure.
first thing out my mouth was:
“where’s your daughter?”
'cause that’s
what the fuck matters.

🚶‍♂️🚧

go ask him.

you all
keep confusing obsession
with fucking devotion.
keep mistaking enablement
for fucking loyalty.
keep dating men
who abandon their kids 💫
and thinking he’d never do that to me.
baby, he already did.
you’re just
too busy gulping down
delusion to taste the truth.

he calls it “my wife is crazy”
you call it true love
the judge calls it
“contempt of fucking court”

💥⚖️

—

me?
i could’ve let him
pretend the past didn’t exist.
but i had the audacity to grow a spine.
i told him to do better.
i told him to love more.
and if that meant losing him?
then good fucking riddance.

because i will never—fucking never—
be the girl
that lays next to a coward
who lets his own child
go fucking hungry
while she plays pretend wife
on dirty-ass sheets.

ew.

truly so trashy.

👉🤢

you bitches
are all highly disrespectful.
and desperate af.

and you know
what separates me
from the gutter trash
that came before/during/after?
they saw a man
fuck with a woman
and a fucking child
and thought,
perfect, my turn.
they saw neglect,
addiction,
blatant abuse—
fucking chaos
and called it romance.
they looked at his
evil ass narcassism—
and decided to live
in the fucking mess
instead of cleaning it the fuck up.
like, congrats,
you’re fucking a deadbeat.

spiritual poverty looks good on you, babe.

🤷🏼‍♂️❌

he’s got a newborn,
a court date,
and a girlfriend
that’s into disney and cartoons
but sure, babe
he’s healing 🙏🏼

meanwhile
im out here
mailing father’s day cards
to remind him of his kid.
i told him
to love children
that weren’t even his
because that’s what family means.
i begged him
to show up
for someone else
even while
he was disappearing from me.
that’s not codependency.
that’s fucking conscience.

listen.
i would’ve taken
both those kids
and raised them
like my own if life had let me.
because love—real love—isn’t about winning.
it’s about witnessing someone else’s humanity
and fucking protecting
it even when they can’t.

and every single person
who ever called me
crazy,
or dramatic,
or fucking bitter—
nah.
you’re confusing bitterness
with fucking boundaries,
and love with possession.
you can’t comprehend
loyalty that doesn’t serve ego,
only loyalty that
feeds the fucking fantasy 📢

i mean fuck
i’m not perfect.
but i didn’t build
my fucking house
on the bones
of a child’s heartache.

🥀

nah.
i didn’t play pretend
with someone else's baby
crying in the fucking background.
and that’s the whole fucking difference.

yeah.
i know i’m not the piece of shit.
because
when the moment
came to fucking prove it,
i chose compassion over control.
i chose truth over my own comfort.
i chose a kid’s peace
over my own happy ending.

so yeah.
keep talking shit.
keep stalking my page.
keep trying to understand how i do it.

the answer’s simple.
i have a fucking soul.
my heart is really fucking solid.
and i’m not a piece of shit.

🤸‍♂️✨♾️

and the only thing
he’s ever committed to
is new pussy
and not showing the fuck up

🕊️✨🚫

fatherless behavior:
when he’s allergic to condoms,
commitment,
and cash apps that say “for the baby”.

sponsored by:
delusion.
drugs.
and women who mistake trauma bonding
for a personality type.

stay safe out there bestie
it’s contagious.