The Other Woman

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This is what it is to be the other woman. You exist in a state of aloneness while she has everything. A part of me wants to dissect that. Rip the trueness of it to pieces.

I mean, does she really have everything if he fucked me in the first place? I could regurgitate all our late night chats here, the crassness stroke beauty of what he longs to do to me. But is that a competition I want to win? Is it a competition she would want to win? If she even had the dignity afforded to her of knowing in the first place?

Dignity and respect is what cheating is all about. And neither party is immune. Once you go down that road, you basically chuck your regard for everybody involved out of the window. And that imagery is intentional. Because you probably will be fucking in his or her car, for the few moments they can steal to be with you. You matter so much you are the human equivalent of a Mcdonalds meal, a drive by fucking. And oh trust me…they will tell you it was so, so, good. They really will. They will do their best to make you feel utterly royal.

Do you know why? They are ensuring their next snack. These people are the romantic equivalent of car chasing lawyers. Those shits will tell you anything to get you on the hook.

And what about the other one in this triune relationship, who is supposedly guilty of utter neglect? That’s what they always tell you. She or he isn’t adventurous enough. Or is not satisfying their needs. There are reasons for every event that occurs. Use your wits. If the story you’re being sold feels wrong, it is.

And that is why I must discard him. I cannot keep excusing him. He has told me night after night of my importance to him. Chronicled his lust in stark detail. But of what import is it when he lies beside another each night? He caresses me with one palm and metaphorically slaps me in the face with another. That is what cheating is.

He cheats all three of us.

There is another aspect that will not be known to you unless you read these words or have lived it yourself.

The tangle.

He’s making me hate her, yet pity her.

I don’t want it.

I suspect all three of us are above this sort of farce. These selfish theatrics.

So I’m walking away.

I will not be turned into some sort of kitty Kat.

I’m not her.

I am a lioness.

The lioness.

So open your ears and hear me fucking ROAR.

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