the roster: deep scroll edition

(aka: honey, it’s purely physical. i do not want your childhood story.)

babe.
i. love. sex.
love making out.
love getting lifted up.
love you being obsessed.
love. it.

so yeah. ping ping ping.
eventually you f*ckers wear me down.
(how do y’all smell when we are single? shit’s like blood in the water.)
i lasted half a year with no skin contact—
but now?
yo. let’s go.

so f*ck it.
i’m deep scrolling.
actually looking at the texts, the dms,
the weird ass “what happened to your husband” messages
because men clock that shit like a direct transmission from jesus christ himself.
and honestly?

i get it.

you never forgot me.
something about me—so real. so strange. so hot.
so…why doesn't she give a fuck? energy.
i know.
but babes (all of you, gather round):

i’m using you.
for your body.

i don't wanna do the therapy rundown.
i don't need to hear about your mommy.
i am not your emotional pivot point.
i am your reason to go silent after.
(baby, i’ll call you.)

truly?

i’ve got a full nfl arc in my dms.
fumbled in 2010,
(weren’t you on a videogame homie?)
been regretful in fb messenger since 2013.
hey baby,
shoot your shot.

flower boy?
brought me a bouquet every hangout for a month in like 2022—
now texting in invisible ink like he’s from spy kids.
bitch, i will tell her.

there’s a 5'10" plastic surgeon doing rounds
and sending “what do you need tho babe?”
(didn’t see it for 8 hours—my bad angel.)

prom king?
talking to himself in my messages like it’s his personal diary.
baby—you stole my desktop. like full stop. out my window.
i dragged you in front of the entire football team.
you are not him.

rando-hometown dudes?
“babe, you’re single now… need a hug?”
yeah babe.
i do.

but i need you to shut the f*ck up while you do it.
(and maybe take the trash out on your way out.)

law school sugar daddy?
offered to pay my tuition to hit.
(baby, didn’t i meet your mom? —
love you for that cutie.)
… lowkey?
i fumbled that one.
he was obsessed.
and kind of a hottie.
hi.

i’m scrolling through the chaos like:
ehhhhhhhhhhh idk.

here’s some guy i literally had to google.
his name popped up and i was like
“i should know who this is…”
oh, right. trauma dump dude.
i nodded.
he cried.
i disassociated.

and this is the thing:
i want your body.
the rest of you?
annoying.
zero assets.
talks too much.

you’re loud, soft, and bring nothing to the table but audacity.

like honestly,
why are all of you so…
un-smashable?

anyway—i’m back.
bored. hot. emotionally bulletproof.
screening new applicants daily.

but straight up?

vibrator supremacy.

again.
and again.
and again.