An Open Letter to Good Penis
I’d like to begin by saying, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be crazy or hold you accountable for that fucked up shit your owner did. I want you to know I miss you. If I could I would’ve taken you with me; but alas, you belong to a fuck boy. I would’ve written sooner but every time I send an ‘I miss you’ text that fuck nigga thinks it’s to him. I need you to know it’s for you, all for you. Every text is for you. I stayed as long as I could because of you; and honestly, I think about returning---daily---because of you.
Remember that time I rode you while I was on the phone with my bestie. Those were great times, great times indeed. I had never known sacrificial love until I found myself doing eighty in a thirty five trying to get back to you after that fuck nigga said he was in the mood for some Popeye’s. I hated leaving you there. I knew you would miss me but that nigga insisted on having chicken. What about the time I had just got in from out of town and I drove an hour to get to you because the fuck boy said he was too tired to come get me? I came for you. Didn’t I? Didn’t I cum for you, every time?
When I think about what we’ve become tears fill my eyes. We used to be so good together. It’s like we danced to the same drum, hummed to the same beat, slow grinded to the same Silk song. You know me better than everyone else I know. Shit, you’ve seen my ugly, orgasmic cry. Now, now when I see you out I just pretend I’ve never known you. When people ask me how you were I tell them you were trash. I could never risk another woman knowing you like I do. You have ruined me. Mediocre penis will never do now. I weep when I think of the lack of possibilities. With you, I met my equal because great vagina deserves great penis. So, I’m sorry…
I’m sorry for the time I overreacted because your phone kept lighting up. I believe it was his cousin now. I asked him. He confirmed. I’m sorry for that time I @’d him on the timeline because he had liked one too many tweets. It was my vagina. It wasn’t me. I’m sorry for that time I sent those four paragraphs telling him it was over because I was sick of having to wonder if he was serious about me. It wasn’t over. It still isn’t over. I’m sorry I moved on so quickly. My friends said the best way to get over a man is to get a new one. I got over the man but I never got over you. I still need you. So, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
Tell me how I can make this up to you. I’ve been doing my Kegels religiously. I’ve also been drinking a gallon of water a day, eating fruit, and taking shots of organic cranberry juice in preparation of our reunion. I heard your owner got a job at a call center in the city. Apparently, he’s done with his pipe dream and wants to settle down. So, in 90 days when his insurance kicks in and he’s caught up on his rent tell him to call me. I miss y’all.
Forever yours, a sprung boujee girl.