Broken Men

I love broken men. 

The broker the better...

I fly in like the captain of saving hoes, except the hoes are broken men. They all feed off my energy and fix themselves, while I am foolishly left with less than before. I am addicted to the feeling of being needed. Broken men find great comfort in that because it's the exchange of energy mistaken for genuine like or love. It's the love or experience they never had before. It's the mother, sister, lover and safe haven they wish they had.

Oh, but I love these broken men with the broken promises, broken cars and the all favorite broken wallets. They fulfill my sense of purpose and what I was taught being a woman was. As women, we are often taught to accept the man and help him... Be a strong backbone, support, ride or die. What better way to do that than to fix what is broken and fulfill my strong black woman duties. Remember black pussy can fix everything because there is Godly magic in us. A black women can fix and do anything we are supreme magical beings, right? What happens when your magic is low or when it dies out? Who helps me when I'm broken?