To Many.

Too much. You right? Too much Money. So little heart.

Your abundance makes me cautious, and I don’t want to talk to you again. Thought the mini-letter was blunt and straight forward. I do not want to talk to a capitalist pig, a money worhshipper. A sinner who knows no other god except his money, even though the word “Goddess” he addresses to plenty, I am sure.

New York, the land of the wealthy right? How many billionaires are there per capita, again? Fuck you.

Knowing your resources and sensing a hint of desperation, I’m writing this to you so you can stop messaging me. The last thing I said was that I cannot talk to someone who exploits places and doesn’t give back to those communities he takes from. Your wealth is derived from other’s demise and areas of poverty. You messaging me, once, and yet again after over a month of no response. not even acknowledging my last message to you. Because that really was my last message to you.

I don’t even remember what I said, but what makes you entitled to a response from me? You want everything, for nothing. Let other women lick your boots and be oh so forgiving of you. Though they call themselves “domme”, we both know they only are so complaint and understanding of your background because they see you as access to wealth, riches, etc etc. Dangle that carrot in those white women faces, or those other women who foolishly thought love with you was possible.

When I met you, I was a dumb young girl barely figuring shit out. I’m sure that was a huge turn on for you, my nativity. You lie and state you are submissive, but truly you just enjoy those moments, the rush of being someone young and new. And me? We both know I’m exceptional, I’m an exceptional human being and you? A product of old money, a man who has never seen a day of suffering. You do not know the definition of that word. The closest you get to it is when you get whipped and chained by women/others. Its like your a piñata, they hit and strike and a few banknotes and change fall out, but they aim to get the fat prize. Which you know you will never give up. Its innate in you, and your marriage? Your ultimate savior. Rot in your unhappiness.

It seems to me, men like you enjoy me because I’m exciting. Everyone loves an underdog right? You do not have the privilege of knowing me anymore. Seems like I’m a walking, breathing fountain of youth for men like you. Therefore, I’m exclusive and if you have nothing to aport to my life, you are out. I have 0 tolerance for people like you.

Show me a receipt for a fat donation, 5 figures or high 4 figures to a either a non profit in Brazil that is for the rainforest and the Amazon communities, indigenous communities in Central America, immigrant relief at the border, do something, help the causes that I am passionate about. There is no insult that I can think of that can encompass all the animosity and disgust I have towards you and your kind. Men like you, are a disgrace to this Earth and this plane of existence. You are cancer, the Earth defines you as such.

You deserve no more attention or acknowledgement. Do not speak to me ever again. You don’t deserve to know how I am, and what I’ve been doing. One day you might hear about me, but you will be a distant, maybe even repressed, memory then.

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