I Am Seriously OVER The Fuckboy

By

I’m one of those bitter girls. The kind of girl that bitches there are no good men out there knowing full well I have passed on my fair share of them. The kind of girl that talks about how she’s got no time for fuck boys, yet continually tries to date fuck boys.

I hate being the kind of girl that waits for a text, that hopes he’ll call, that does him favors, and gets jealous over other girls, knowing damn well he’s not giving me enough in return. I hate being the girl that hopes he’ll change, that hopes he’ll reciprocate, that hopes he’ll meet my needs, and stops being a fuck boy.

I hate that the real problem isn’t the boy, or the man, or his attitude, but myself.

The problem is that as I grew up I let myself grow into someone that sticks around through the bullshit. I let myself think kicking, screaming and stomping my feet when he acts like he doesn’t care was the way to make him see he’s wrong. I let myself believe telling him off was sticking up for myself. When really, I should have just been walking out the door.

Most of us have done it though haven’t we? We’ve tried to say we’re okay with him not texting us all the time, because really who wants a clingy guy? We say it’s cool that he spends every weekend with his boys because we like all the extra time we have to ourselves and with our girls.

We stand by him when he has nothing, because the saying goes, “How can you expect a man to treat you like a Queen if you don’t help him become the King?”

Well no fuckin’ more. I like my time alone, and I love a good girls night, but somewhere a long the way I let the line blur. The line between a healthy amount of space, and letting myself get played. I’m sick of bitching about how I’m being treated. I’m starting to annoy myself. I’m annoyed at myself for even writing this, because I’m sure as you all can tell I once again let someone get under my skin. I let another boy plan me a pretty picnic without bothering to check the weather. Which makes me a fool, because it’s winter in New England and its fuckin cold outside.

Cold. Like my heart. And it’s staying that way.

Ladies join me in this. Be bitter. Be cold. Don’t wait for his text, don’t care if he calls. Don’t even learn his last name. Don’t even learn his first name. Make him bring so much heat. Make him pursue you so ferociously, you actually start to wonder if he’s a little crazy. Because he should be crazy. Crazy for you. And he should melt that heart of yours little by little with every little thoughtful thing he does.

Be the kind of girl who says she’s got no time for fuck boys, and actually doesn’t date fuck boys.