Sometimes You Gotta Be A Bitch

I have always believed that you should love your enemies.

Fight hate with love. 

Kill them with kindness. 

My favorite proverb says Loving your enemies is like heaping hot coals on their head. 

Makes me think that God has a sense of humor. 

Because there are some people who I would 

LOVE to heap hot coals on their head.

Or down their pants. 

You know. 

Whatever. 

Like, oh, let's just say for instance, The Phantom of the Opera. 

I had reconciled my feelings for him--the anger & the heartbreak, the confusion & the acceptance--and I was finally FINE.

Better than fine, I was GOOD.

I wasn't hurt anymore. 

I was content. 

Happy Little Pinup ready for her next adventure. 

I knew things would never be as they were or as I'd hoped them to be, but I knew I'd see him again and that he'd come to my show in August. 

And maybe we'd even be the kind of friends who saw each other every once in a blue moon. 

Pretty fucking loving of me considering how damn wishy washy he had been the last several months. 

So all was well. 

And then I HEARD from him again. 

I REALLY HATE it when men send me goodbye forever messages and then contact me again. 

One-You're losing credibility as a writer. (You fucking liar. 'Fare Thee Well,' my glorious arse.)

TWO-It is yet another way for you to be fucking inconsistent. 

I said I was smitten with you then I said I never wanted to see you again. 

Then I said I wanted to see you then I didn't wanna talk to you for two weeks. 

Then I said goodbye forever then I sent another fucking text. 

I don't MIND that he texted.  

Like I said, I figured we were gonna remain friends because we obviously cared about each other. 

(Obviously. Ha. The only thing obvious about the Phantom was that his pants were too tight.)

His text was rude. 

It was condescending and presumptive and totally unnecessary. 

I'd sent him a fucking SNAPCHAT (I knew that app was stupid) of me smiling on my run to send P O S I T I V I T Y his way because I'm a decent human being. 

And even though he's hardly texted me at all about anything for the last two months he felt the need to respond to a fucking snap and tell me that he didn't need me to smile for him. I should smile for myself. 

There was more to it than that, more self loathing & assumptions that because I sent him a selfie I must want to rush into his arms & stay there forever when there was "nothing to miss" & "I told you & meant it."

Ok.

OKAY.

First of all, I sent that selfie to my BROTHER. My DAD & my MO-THER.

They all had a normal response.

Things like, Aw, thanks for thinking of me.

You look adorable.

And Emoticons.

The Phantom, however, had to take a shit on my smiling face and make me feel like the weird bright spot on a baboons ass (What the fuck is that doing there??) just for THINKING OF HIM.

Ooh.

Was I fucking pissed. 

So you know what I did?

I let him have it. 

I had been so insanely, ridiculously, overwhelmingly kind & supportive & understanding despite the fact that I would have been justified in setting his dog on fire after the things he's done to me (Sorry, pup. No offense. Dog lovers, it's just a metaphor. Calm the fuck down.)

The problem with being loving is people think they can do or say ANYTHING and you'll ALWAYS be loving. 

Because you always have been.  

So I decided enough was enough. 

And I let out every vile and wicked HONEST thought that had been dancing in my mind since all of this started. 

I wasn't mean. 

I told the truth. 

And sometimes the truth is really fucking harsh when you've been setting the heart of a goddess on fire. 

I'm just as much of a poet as that fucker. 

And poetry doesn't always have to express love. 

I didn't sugar coat my words in hope or encouragement like he was used to. 

I showed him what a real bitch I could be. 

And it felt AMAZING. 

Because sometimes people don't deserve the Sunshine and rainbows and sparkly Unicorns version of me. 

They deserve the Fuck with me and see what Happens version. 

It felt like I FINALLY stood up to the monster who'd been trying to rape me of my joy.

Of course he didn't respond. 

What could he say?

You're right?

I'm sorry?

I have used you and not given a fuck?

It freed me. 

From the need to ever see him again. 

Or care if he sees me light up the stage this summer. 

I no longer give a fuck what he does. 

I only have room for Love in my life. 

And he can be haunted by the realization that I will never look at him with adoring eyes as I did the last time we saw each other. 

These eyes won't even SEE him.