She's a ten but pushes you away when you get too close to her heart.

My super power? I've been blocked by @ValVenisEnt numerous times in one day. 💅

Damn.

They're ALL available?

Being horny is funny AF. Because it's like you know others are too. But all it takes is for someone you DON'T want saying something fucking stupid to it and boom. Gone.

Do any of my followers have a nickname for me they've chosen for me in their own accord?

The armor that protected you in times of war becomes a burden in times of peace.

Sure thing. Goodnight everybody.

Only 14 people? 🤔

No.

Remember what I said about those dirty ass mirrors the other day? Turns out her name was Laura. Not Brenda. 🤷🏻‍♂️

Twenty-seven in my pocket, rent due Friday. Bucket catching kitchen rain, got a leak in the ceiling. Bills curl on the counter, red ink, last warning. I can hear my stomach growl louder than the morning. Cold coffee, cracked mug, stale bread on a plate. I'm doing math with my fingers, trying to bargain with fate. Got a smile for the world, got a storm I conceal. I'm so good at saying "Good" that I forget how to feel. I've worn pride like a padlock, kept the whole world outside. Then got mad at the people who couldn't see me inside. I'd turn hurt into anger, make the innocent pay. Then lie awake ashamed of what I'd said that day. I'm tired of being tired, tired down to my bones. Tired of acting like I'm fine when I'm barely holding on. I don't need another sermon saying everything's alright. I need one damn day where I don't have to fight my mind. I'm tired of being tired, but I'm still here breathing. Still fighting old demons, still searching for a reason. If healing means I crawl before I ever learn to fly. I'll crawl my way to morning. I ain't giving up tonight. I know the voice of temptation; it remembers my name. Makes a prison sound like freedom, makes escape sound like change. I remember loving numbness, how it softened every edge. Till I woke up with the wreckage and a foot outside the ledge. I don't miss what it took from me, I miss the brief relief. That small, deceptive silence when I couldn't stand my grief. Now the minutes get uncomfortable, the old excuses call. And I have to choose the hard way with nobody there to applaud. So I tell somebody I'm struggling, instead of saying I'm straight. Quit confusing being lonely with deserving my fate. I take responsibility for the hurt I handed down; My pain explains my anger, but it doesn't make it sound. Any less cruel to the people who were only trying to care. I can't undo the damage by pretending it wasn't there. There's a Bible by my mattress, folded pages, fraying spine. And a prayer that comes out broken when I run out of lines. God, I don't need You to erase every scar I ever earned. Just help me face the man I've been and change what can be turned. I thought a man should take the hit and never let it show, Keep his hands around the wheel no matter where the road goes. But there's no honor in drowning just because you hate to ask, And courage isn't wearing pain like some unbreakable mask. So I make the call I've dodged, tell the truth without a joke. Say I'm scared of who I am when I get tired of the hope. One day clean, one hard truth, one old habit left behind. One apology with action, one less war inside my mind. I can't change the years behind me or demand that wounds will close. Can't decide who grants forgiveness for the hurt my actions caused. But I can stop using damage as permission to do more. Put my feet back on the ground, quit rehearsing every war. I'm still flawed, still learning, still a work I can't disguise. But I'm done confusing suffering with the price of being alive. If tomorrow finds me struggling, today still counts as growth. I'm not cured because I'm trying, but I'm trying, and that's hope. I'm tired of being tired. But I'm done abandoning me. I've spent enough of my life just trying to survive it. Now I want to live.

Got a hole in my pocket, got a hole in my pride. Got a stomach making threats I can't afford to deny. There's a leak in the kitchen, got a bucket catching rain. And the ceiling's wearing watermarks that look a lot like pain. I got twenty-seven dollars and a week full of worries, Bills stacked up like a jury, every envelope judging me. The fridge hums empty, smells like rust and old lemons. I'm rehearsing conversations with the man I'm supposed to be. Mama taught me, "Son, a dollar ain't a measure of a man." But it's hard to feel like royalty when you're counting what you can. When the cashier says the total and you put the bread back, There's a particular humiliation that don't fit inside a rap. I've slept with my shoes on, woke up stiff as a statue. Made a feast out of some rice, let my imagination add food. Had my stomach playing drums while my conscience kept the tempo, Learned the difference between having shit and having something left to give, though. See, I've met men with mansions who'd sell their souls for a moment. Watched 'em drown in their abundance, every room a place to be lonely. Gold watches, cold hearts, whole lives built on appearances. They can purchase every comfort, can't buy back their disappearing years. Me? I'm broke, but I remember every hand that ever helped me. Every stranger who showed kindness when the world was being selfish. Every meal somebody split when they were hungry themselves, Every voice that said, "Keep going." when I couldn't save myself. I got scars with their own stories, got regrets I can't erase. Got some names I say in silence, got some ghosts I cannot face. I've made choices out of weakness, watched the consequences grow. And the hardest kind of poverty is when you owe your soul. But I'm trying to make amends, put some backbone in my prayers. Learn that being truly sorry means you change what brought you there. I can't pay my past in cash, can't negotiate with time. But I can make tomorrow better than the wreckage left behind. I want a house where the laughter don't depend on what we're buying, Where the truth can sit at dinner without somebody denying that the people matter more than all the things we're trying to prove. Where a man can say he's hurting and still have the strength to move. I want land beneath my feet, not a throne above the rest. Want my children to remember how I loved them, not my checks. Want to look into the mirror without bargaining with shame, Know the man behind my eyes is finally worthy of his name. I ain't romanticizing struggle, shit, this hardship gets exhausting. There are nights the fear feels physical, my pulse a hammer knocking. When the mail comes through the doorway, I can taste the metal panic. And my dreams feel so damn distant that success starts seeming imaginary. But I still laugh until my ribs ache, still forgive when I can. Still hold the door for strangers, still reach out a helping hand. If the world measures my worth by what I've managed to acquire. Let it keep its crooked ruler; I was built from something higher. I'm poor financially, but rich in spirit. Got a heart that's been through hell and somehow still got love within it. No designer on my body, no inheritance to claim. Just a soul that took some beatings and refused to lose its name. And if I die with empty pockets, let the truth be understood: I was never rich in money, but I tried to be rich in good. 'Cause the grave don't take your gold, and the dirt don't care who won. When the final bill comes due, what you gave is what you've done.

Why don't you need someone sexually? Me:

Said perfectly. Nothing else to add.

Yes.