The imaginary rejection tipped the first domino. He didn’t respond appropriately to my overwhelming appetite for male attention to prove to society it was possible. 

I put my face on in hopes of finding the momentary Joe Schmoe of the evening to compliment me enough to satisfy years of longing and to also undo the text rejection mishap from early. 

Simple enough right? 

I shimmied my way through crowds, obviously to the beat. I gazed upon prospects as though trying to transmit my desperation of being wanted in a suave, cool, woke Queen, kinda way.

I’ve figured out how to consolidate it all into the two seconds of passing.

Since Divinity runs deep and doesn’t give a fuck about my feelings but more about my growth, no one bit the bait.

Now, there was a new layer of self-inflicted rejection added onto the already existent mission yet to be accomplished. 

The depths of my desperation to be wanted was worse than being drunk. 

The low-self-esteem blackouts have caused more wrecks in the realm of life altering accidents than credited.

The safety pin boy responded immediately. 

The vibrations of technology sparked endorphins and I savored the hit of anticipation.

I should have known better.

He wasn’t the one.

Safety Pin Boy was a magical realist who had the ability to see me and not make me run.

He was safety and fear wrapped in intellect with a nonchalantness that was offensive to the needy.

His skin is therapeutic.

I caressed the dichotomy existing of the softness his soul was wrapped in while feeling the verbal glass shards pierce my walls of dysfunctional fantasy.

He wasn’t giving me what I wanted. 

Just tell me I’m beautiful.

He was the dope man waving the baggy in my face while giving me spiritual gems as the cravings for his touch dripped out my pores.

I was running out of time.

I was tired, emotional, embarrassed and running out of fronts.

My heart fell heavy, the historical wound had been punctured and the dam was about to break.

“I put your picture on my mirror, start to blush when somebody says your name…”

He loved my happy song as much as I did… 

Please don’t cry.

Please don’t cry.

Why do you hate yourself so much? 

His voice rode the waves of pain that flowed as I missed my deadline.

His words held their power, unmoved by my demise but rather welcoming my release as he filled me with substance that held me together surpassing any “you’re beautiful” ever has.

He was a safe place I didn’t realize existed in this way. 

He gave me perspectives that altered the course of my healing that night.

The Safety Pin Boy respected all that I was in that moment and his eyes told me I was beautiful in a way his articulate vocabulary could never convey.

The mission of the night was accomplished, I was just unaware of what the mission truly was.