When You Love a Fuckboy



Small moments turn into ideas of tall

lifetimes. Morning kisses on the shoulder. Degrees heightened by a simple touch from quick hands. I can feel Cool Fingertips running through my scalp. Massaging the immediate stress away. Mediocre strokes the middle of me. When you penetrate.


The morning after–is thick syrup stuck

between my fingers and thighs.

Heightened cluelessness humidifies the recycled air and it lingers

over the layers of us.

Because the last time was supposed

to be the last time. But this time

was different because I’m grown now and my view of you has. Evolved.


It was too many good moments for us. So I knew it was time. Though my heart

couldn’t prepare for your departure, I had to convince myself

of its validity.

I said I didn’t need you. I had better prospects.

You were just a place holder with good sex


Eventually comes the

missed calls.

Ignored texts.

Nonchalant responses.

Disappearing acts.

Again, Abandoning me so

dormant emotions like old glasses cloud my

view, disengaging my discernment.


In present time now

it’s been months since…

and you’re out of my life for good.

Because our last time held the final

moments of my life that I’m willing to let you.


I’ve grown from that, plus I have a new

friend now.


I was just fine

until you intruded back into my life. Atleast,

that’s what I told myself.

But Your new scent permeates my couch, my walls, my carpet. My air. Suffocating

me with nostalgic feelings mixed with hope for our future. And then Your smile…it corrupts any ideas of abstinence.

Until Loneliness lands upon my consciousness. And once you leave, as you always do…

I promise myself never again.

-Nyque B.

Until next time.

2 thoughts on “When You Love a Fuckboy

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