flower motel. by lomakaveli

my vagina was considered to be a delicate flower with little petals that fell every time i let someone in, to most men. to him, it was considered a quick "nut." something to keep him cozy when he was feeling a little lonely. but i was never able to cop or attain that title of being shown off. my body was only to be shown to him, he'd say. my body was his playground. any time of the day he wanted to see me undress and unfold my insecurities because he "cared "about me. but caring led into this disgusting ass relationship that wasn't even a relationship because relationships involve both parties actually caring for one another, being there, watering each other so they can grow, telling each other how much they are worth. you can't tell anybody what they're worth if you don't even know your own’s. i learned that the hard way when I would see him and think this man is amazing. i found him. those words turned into “why am i sad when I knew he didn't care..? but could you blame him?  you let him walk all over you.” i'd willingly lay down for him at sight, please him, comfort him while I secretly made love to my choices in the back of my mind. because it felt like i was letting the devil enter me anyway. the way his tongue devoured me made me question what a god is, this isn't right. it's impossible. mention my name, and he would go blank. i wish I could've done that to his superficial touch and his words that wrapped me up and spat me out onto the bed when i wanted to be spat out into a relationship that was secure and official. a relationship i would have no worries in. a relationship where we grew together. a relationship. he watered my lady garden so heavenly that i forgot sinning was even real. new flowers bloomed every day in my personality to the thought of him being in my life. i hated ripping out those roots that were created by him. they were so deeply rooted, not realizing that pieces of me dripped at the ends. falling into my pool of sorrow, drowning me, to understand why me. nobody knew me and him even made contact with each other. burner phones and notes were how we communicated. the more the secrets, the more i fell for him. he told me “my vagina, my vagina was something different. my face was a different sight that he needed. my mouth was everything to him.” so why not have it every day instead of booty call nights tuesday through friday? sunday night i walk out and realize i don't know you. i only know your sexual organ that you stuff in me for the pleasure. the inside of your bedroom, im way too familiar with. i walked out, looking the other way like as if that place didn't exist again until next tuesday. all i wanted was for him to look at me like he was the luckiest guy in the world to have me and hold me. be able to stroke me. he belittled me into a "quick nut," "something to keep him cozy when he was feeling lonely." i will never allow another man to use my vagina as their motel. sleep day in and day out until you realized what you were doing. something to do on the side while you were bored. you should never belittle something you have with another person. i had finally woke up and realized it was time for the flower motel to close. 


Kelvin Hicks