gold digger??? where bitch???

it’s actually so wild
how women get called gold diggers.
like genuinely hilarious.
because where is the gold?

show me one single brick.
because if i’m digging,
it’s only ever been to dig men
out of their own financial graves.
and then crawl out of the crater alone.

big bro?
never lent me shit.
(even while in the most fucked up situations of my life…with a baby)
but the one time he needed help in college?
(i’m sure you forgot)
i dropped money into his account without blinking.

no hesitation. just vibes and blind loyalty.

me?
asked my dad for help with college
and he said
“lol sorry the economy”

same energy with child support.

“sorry you’re poor.”
nah.
you’re just sorry you had a daughter.

then the encore—

because what’s a little childhood betrayal
without a full adult remix?

told me to come live with him.
said,
“you’ll be safe here.”
knew i was running for my fucking life
with a baby in one arm
and a will to live in the other.
knew i had nothing but a car seat,
true crime stats,
and whatever traces
of nervous system i had left.

so i moved.
crossed state lines like a fugitive from my own life.
spent every last fucking dollar
turning his dusty little man cave
into an actual home.
furnished it,
fixed it,
made it look like someone with a soul lived there.

turned his sad drywall dungeon
into a place a child could exist in
without catching a lawsuit
or a tetanus infection.
for a whole fucking year.
like a clown with a vision board.

and then?
i asked him—
politely—
to close his bedroom door.
(crazy right)

and that was apparently my grand finale.
he kicked me and my baby out
in the dead of winter
like we were a bag of fucking garbage.

and that was supposed to be love,
apparently.
no cash,
just character development.

then the live-in loser era

this man literally traveled the globe on my dime
while making me question my existence.
i flew him to the f1 in abu dhabi
for his birthday.
(business class, you lil shit…a surprise)
he gave me a blender
and a kindle he lost the year before.
bitch, i hate you.

he was living the mid-boy travel dream
funded by my mental health
and my ability to open credit lines.
i was sponsoring the soft launch of a man
with zero ambition and unlimited insta-girl access.

then there was “love.”
aka mr. six-figures-and-zero-shame.
fully employed,
financially stable,
and still acting like
me asking for help with the mortgage
was a personal attack on his net worth.
(instead of an actual roof over his head)

never paid rent.
never covered a single utility.
(you know—i’m really asking to be spoiled here)
lent him money to fix his truck.
my dude—
“forgot.”

(jesus christ at least you bought me jewelry)
but it was pandemic era—
my business tanked.

used my last $8k to buy a camper
to chase his delulu
spoiler:
he sold it behind my back
(at a loss; cuz what’s money?)
with all my shit inside.

talking about:

“you’re trying to get pregnant for a check.”
sir.
literally,
what check?

the one your kid currently gets?
right.

then the husband experience:
beta tested,
trauma optimized

this one took my paid-off vehicle
had me finance a new one so he could use mine
then totaled it days before i gave birth—
then bounced.

(you can’t make this shit up)

said he’d help me pay for law school
so i emptied my entire safety net
to help him build something.
he ditched us when i refused to keep funding
the bullshit.

left me with a financed car,
an empty bank account,
and a mountain of debt.

refuses to pay $87 in child support.
(motherfucker)

…

so final invoice?
me,
always delivering.
always coming out with less.

gold digger??
girl—
i’ve only ever lost money on men.
they have never made me richer.
only extracted,
borrowed,
forgotten,
fumbled,
and fled.

every man i’ve loved has
☑ taken my money
☑ taken my stability
☑ taken my joy
☑ taken my goddamn sanity
and left me with
☒ nothing but overdraft fees and a lower credit score.

new definition:

gold digger (n.)

a woman,
men bankrupt
emotionally,
financially,
and spiritually —
then dub a “gold digger”
for wanting the bare minimum they promised.

the only thing i dig now is graves.
and they’re all shaped like men.

y’all are actually crazy.


******

⚖️ legal disclaimer:
any resemblance to real people, places, or events is purely coincidental.
this is a work of art.
a creative expression.
a piece of emotionally therapeutic satire.
any connection to real-life abandonment, betrayal, or eviction is…
unfortunately your problem.