My doorman sees a girl who wants to have fun.
Who leaves each night, dolled up as the sun is setting with her purse swinging on her wrist.
I’m the girl who wants love.
Who goes out more often than not, waiting for love.
Looking, waiting, poaching, scheming and hoping for love.
We talk about it when we’re out and mention ex boyfriends
and ex hookups, always commenting on how we’re the upper hand and being.
They’re the ones who need to get their shit together.
We are the ones who are the completed puzzle and just need a sidekick. They’re the twisted broken ones who need help.
We’re still alone though. It doesn’t mean we don’t get laid...
being single means we aren’t in love. There’s a difference.
Talk to anyone whose heart has been broken and there is a difference between sex and love.
We all want love and know our story begins and ends with it, but sex is more obtainable.
Why pretend we need more than what we need?
Do I need love? No.
Do I want it? Yes.
Do I need sex? Yes.
Do I want it? Most of the time.
Do I need to drink too much and throw my hands up
and dance till 2 AM? No.
But do I want to? Absa-fucking-lutely.