girl: this is a bitch slap 💥🤚🏼

girl.
fucking relax.

i am a dumbass
lovergirl.
to my dumbass core.

but bitch.
hello?

💕🗣️ attraction ≠ capacity

he wants to fuck you.
he can’t find you
on a google fucking calendar.
bro
can’t even
pick a dinner spot
but thinks
he’s your future husband.
yo.
you’re not asking
for too much.
you’re asking a himbo
with exactly—
zero
load-bearing skills
to build a fucking life.
bro.
he can’t carry it.
not even in installments.

—

“he’s just confused”

ok but
you’re the only one
with anxiety. lol
babe.
repeat after me:
he's not confused.
he's fucking cowardly
and you're in denial.
you’re out here
writing plotlines
for a man
who can't finish
a fucking text.
you keep calling it
a “gray area”
when it’s clearly
flying red fucking flags
in a goddamn trench coat.
girl.
stop squinting.
it's not nuance.
you’re not special.
he just doesn’t love you.
he never did.
it's all bullshit.
you got played.

—

your boundaries
didn’t scare him.

babe—
they exposed him.
he clocked your standards
and immediately
shit the fucking bed.
then blamed your tone.
then said
“you’re too much.”
nah,
he’s just used
to women who speak
his mind
instead of her own
and cook through
the fucking tears.

—

let’s translate “i hate you”

☑ “you know too much.”
☑ “you saw behind the cosplay.”
☑ “you expected realshit and i only got vibes.”
☑ “i’m not done lying to other women and you’re making it hard.”
☑ “you’re a closed door with a ring camera. i prefer unlocked windows.”

baby.
he doesn’t hate you.
he hates that
you woke the fuck up.

—

you were never asking for too much.

you were asking for
a text back,
a plan,
and a man
with a face
and a spine
at the same fucking time.
apparently
that’s the
holy fucking trinity now.

—

let’s get disgusting 💕
with the truth:

→ he didn’t forget to call.
→ he remembered, and chose not to.
→ he didn’t change.
→ your tolerance for excuses just went to fucking zip.
→ he didn’t ruin your peace.
→ you let a walking c+ in on a group project and now your GPA is fucking crying.
→he didn’t ghost.
→ he self-deported when your standards required a fucking visa.

—

girlie. 💫
your anxiety attack is not a fucking soulmate,

it's a warning siren.
he’s not “giving butterflies.”
you’re just not safe,
bitch.

—

capacity checklist 💀
(the bros that fail in real time)

■ shows up on time? ❌
■ plans a date that doesn’t require google maps or emergency birth control? ❌
■ knows what he wants? ❌
■ says what he means? ❌
■ leaves you better, not bleeding out from nervous system rot? ❌

nah—
he’s not a man.
he’s just some fucking dude.

—

stop writing poetry
for fucking side characters

baby.
he’s an extra.
fucking background noise.
a goddamn filler episode
that set you back six months.
he came with no plot,
no fucking purpose,
and not a single fucking word of truth.
he brought a hoodie,
not a future.
and you were about to—
fuck his trauma out
like it was a muscle spasm?
girl.

—

new commandments 🔥
for emotionally exiled baddies

✝ thou shalt not decode texts from the illiterate.

✝ thou shalt not negotiate with libido in a truck.

✝ thou shalt remember: the bar is not hell. it’s buried under his mother's house.

✝ thou shalt not babysit potential. especially when it shits.

✝ thou shalt not fuck men who disappear when asked for an ounce of fucking bravery.

—

edit that shit out of your life ⏪

sweetheart.
you’re not “crazy.”
you’re underprotected and sick of reading records out loud.
you’re not “clingy.”
you just noticed you’re the only one holding the damn rope.
you’re not “intimidating.”
he just can’t lie in front of a camera
and that’s on god + evidence.

—

🕯️ conclusion (and fucking obituary)

he died doing what he loved:
being vaguely hot and
emotionally fucking bankrupt.
that shit was never love.
respectfully?
fucking next.

❤️‍🔥