to his mistress

I'm not saying I can never forgive you. I just need to say this first.

I was you, five years ago. Young, desirable, creative. I had men at my doorstep and baggage in my bedroom. I took no prisoners and asked for no histories. I bumped into so many relationships and never worried about the bruises I caused. Because nobody's bruises were like mine.

I am forgiving you because I do not believe that my man was the first, nor would be the last in your life you will use to mask your own insecuruties. I am forgiving you because in your youth you tried to do the impossible; you attempted to be someone you could never be. Me, in my happy relationship.

I am hopeful that as a woman, you learn someday that disrespecting another woman is a painful, embarrassing mirror that only puts you in a position to reinvent the pains you are already feeling.

I am hopeful that as a woman you decide to put your self before your pussy, your pain, your horniness and your power over men. That is a lesson that is slow to learn but will give you instant happiness.

I know you. Not because of our many hours together. Not because of your quiet disclosures about your life and your past. Not because we now have dick in common. I know you because that scared little girl peeking out behind all that pretend sexiness has a universal name and face. She is so many women competing for the hearts, mind and money of so many broken men. She pretends to be solace to an aching penis. She hopes that her trists will one day bloom into commitment.

That girl used to be me. But one day I decided that my life would not be a series of other people's dick. I decided I needed me whole, and didn't want to give away anymore parts of me anymore.

But you haven't been hurt enough. You haven't felt enough of another woman's pain to keep your pain to yourself. You haven't taken enough risks in love that have failed miserably. You haven't hit rock bottom. So you will continue to make mistakes until you learn how to love you.

You can never be me. You can never write enough poems and articles. You could never get your makeup just right. You could never be attractive enough to my man for him to want to leave me. You can give him all your pussy, but you could never have his soul. I know what it is.

There is no replacement for real love. When you try to replace it with cheap imitations, life rejects it. I'm not perfect. Neither is he. And neither are you. But please learn to keep you imperfections to yourself until you find someone to who wants to deal with it.

If I didn't want to really forgive you, I couldn't have written all this. I am just telling you the things one of my exboy's women should have told me years ago.