2 Piece and a Biscuit

This is neither a tribute to fried chicken snack dinners or my infatuation for Kentucky’s patriarchal franchise cemented in deep frying birds in peanut oil.  This is that bullshit I settled for…what I sunk my teeth into and gnawed down to a bone that hardly resembled anything worthy of appeasing a starved appetite.

We… were… together.

It was him and I…finally!

But instead of feeling the immediate gratification from his surrender, I was compelled to feel defeat. I became this lame looking drumstick with low self esteem, and he acted more like a wing man than a much needed partner.

I realize now that I wasn’t enough.  There was always someone else.  We had a partnership where apparently his obsession for feminine wiles surpassed his ability to be faithful.  There was always a text message that alerted his phone during disrespectful hours.  There were the side glances he would give better figures that sashayed past him when he excused himself to go to the bathroom, again.

And so, I became tolerable of these behaviors…simply put, I didn’t give a fuck anymore. I was checked out and playing a position that he calibrated to his needs. He needed a biscuit…every now and again. Strip clubs became decoys for recruitment of fast, hard sexual highs and perversion.

I became good at buffering my feelings; recognizing what was going on, but never making much of a fuss about it.  Not anymore.  The last time I did, he masterfully switched on manipulation so good, he made me feel like I was losing my mind; that I was imagining things.  Now I know I wasn’t.  I was just simply in a relationship that was in hindsight more pitiful than anything else.  Wrapped up in the sophistication of his lies and my dire need for a man’s attention.

I fabricated us, every chance I could… big’ing us up, making us the couple I wished we could’ve been, but secretly wanted my friends to admire. I wanted single friends to cringe, and regret for those who had simplified their bonds to baby mother and dad. At this point, once my heart checked out, my ego took over.

But I couldn’t stand to be alone.  And that’s what made me stay.  The idea of rolling over to the cold side of a bed or not having the evidence of another man’s presence, bothered me more than the appeal of freedom and peace in singleness.  Made me feel like alone was a disease, rather than a season.

I mean who ever orders a one-piece, you know?

“You coming over?”

“Nah…I’m gonna hang out with Brian and the rest of the crew.”

“Oh…where’ y’all going?”

“Probably to Queen of Spades.”

“The strip club?”

“Babe…don’t start.”

Here we go again.

2 piece and a muthafucking biscuit.



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