I'm tired of black men...but then again I'm not

Montí

Looking down at my empty shot glass, like it's going to fill itself, the bartender approaches me, "would you like another one?" he yells over the blaring music, projecting through the speakers in this overly saturated bar.

Still looking at my glass, I nod as I hand it to him, giving him consent to fill it back up.

"Hennessy, right?" he asks, grabbing the empty shot glass from my hand. I nod, and he walks away to top it off.

It was James's ass who brought me here tonight. He said I needed to get out of the house since I've been stuck in there, brooding over Shay for the last two days.

I have to confess, I haven't been the same after she drove off, leaving my heart fragmented into small pieces. So, James is right; It was time for a night out to get my mind off of that compelling woman.

Shit, I know I've fucked up on multiple occasions, but I'm not about to admit that shit to her. Well, not to her face, at least. I told her I loved her, and she drove off, she fucking drove off. I can't even lie; that shit hurt like a motherfucker. So, I'm not about to concede anything else to her.

She made me look like a damn fool, standing there, yelling out to her until the car disappeared out of view. Leaving me to dwell in my self-pity.

On the other hand, I can't blame her. I'm such a fuck up, and I wish I could give her what she wants, but I have mommy issues, just like most men that treat women fucked up.

My mom abandoned me at a young age, and I could never trust any other woman after that. How could you ever truly love someone and give them your all when the one person who was supposed to love you more than anything in this world discarded you like garbage, just to go and pursue their dreams.

I was only fifteen when my mom shipped me to America to live with my dad in Brooklyn, NY. Her words were, "I've done all I could do for you, it's now your father's turn to take care of you."

Those words still haunt me to this day.

My mom had me young. She was only fifteen, herself. She also made it her duty to remind me every day how I ruined her life and her dreams of becoming a model. She is indeed beautiful, which is where I inherited most of my good looks. Therefore she was more than suitable to be a model, but according to her, I was the reason why she wasn't.

Consequently, the day she put me on the plane to America to follow her dreams of becoming a model, she had convinced herself she was doing the right thing. Shipping me off like a package that she would never see again was considered commendable in her eyes.

I haven't seen her since, but over the years, I knew she was doing good and had pursued her career because my old friends back home, now and again, would send me pictures of the magazines she was featured in. So, I presume it worked in her favor, getting rid of me, that is.

I have not received anything lately, so I'm guessing she is still okay, but who knows. She never once tried to contact me throughout the years, and a part of me is pleased because what could she possibly say after all these years?

Nothing that would make me desire for her to be a part of my life again.

Anywho, now you've kind of got a glimpse of why I am such a fuck up. There's more to the story that I am purposely leaving out, but I refuse to go into that; it's too dark.

However, not all men have mommy issues; some just didn't recover from their last heartbreak and are taking it out on the current women in their lives. In my defense, it's both. Moreover, the rest are mostly just selfish assholes, which I can be as well, sometimes.

I do love her, but I have to be candid; I'm not wholly ready to commit to her, not yet, at least. A part of me is too afraid that I will end up being the one broken-hearted in the end, and I'm not ready for that shit, not again. It took years for me to get over my first love, and no one in this world can pay me enough money to endure that agony again.