Dear Mr. “Nice” Guy,
You buttered me up with precious words, so magical to my ears.
You filled me with new hope, an escape from my painful past.
You eased your way into my life, a technique you mastered long before I was your third victim.
You gave me life, it was as if I was nonexistent, just living, instead of livin’.
You fed me bullshit and I blindly, not to talk of gladly, ate up. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
Not to mention a little snack around 2 in the afternoon. A mouthwatering text to indulge my craving, my desire to reassure this little thing we had going on.
My point exactly… this little thing. A thing. A fling. That’s what You called it.
As if I was an object.
Something you could just pick and drop as you pleased.
Something you could use without care.
Something you could hit up constantly because you had a growing erection while my heart was growing in love with you.
Something so easily replaced.
A search for love and acceptance through a text message notification.
A search for fulfillment if you’re the first person to view my snap.
A search for attention when you call me at 3 in the morning, thinking that you actually want to hold a meaningful conversation with me.
But I was mistaken.
I was fooled.
Little did I know I was just another booty call since victim number two out minded your games. Your lies. Your deceit.
So, Dear Mr. Nice Guy
You buttered me up with precious words, a screeching noise to my ears.
You filled me with new hope, something I ran across two guys before you.
You eased your way into my life, a door I allowed you to enter.
You didn’t give me life. I’ve been livin thanks to brothers like you. A lesson learned and cherished.
You fed me bullshit and I made sure to bring my fork and knife. An easy way to cut up and rip thru your games. Your lies. Your deceit.
Your loss of opp