07/20/2025
"She doesn’t force a fu***ng thing anymore, darling. Not a single text, not a phone call, not even a damn smile for anyone who doesn’t deserve to see her teeth. She’s done with the days of stretching herself thin for people who barely give a watered-down version of themselves. If you want half-assed, look elsewhere, she’s full-throttle, all-in, or nothing at all.
She’s not the girl who clings. She’s the woman who releases. She’s the hurricane that lets the weak trees fall and only keeps the roots that can withstand her storm. Her peace is no longer up for negotiation, and if you think you can barter with her boundaries, you’re about to get a hard lesson in “f**k around and find out.”
She’s seen what happens when you pour your soul into people who are just there for the show, not the story. She’s played therapist, cheerleader, and emergency contact for people who wouldn’t even show up to her funeral. Now? She’s RSVP’d to her own damn life. If you’re not on her guest list, don’t expect an invite.
She’s sacred energy wrapped in skin and sass. She’s not giving out free samples of her spirit anymore. You want a taste? You bring the whole meal. And don’t show up empty-handed, because she’s not your charity case, your project, or your emotional punching bag. She’s a goddess, not a grocery store.
Her vibe is raw, like whiskey straight, no chaser. If you can’t handle the burn, you don’t deserve the warmth. She’s done diluting herself for fragile egos—she’s the kind of woman who says what she means, means what she says, and doesn’t give a flying f**k if it ruffles a few feathers. She’s not here to smooth things over; she’s here to shake things up.
She’s about soul, not superficiality. She’s allergic to small talk, fake laughs, and empty compliments. She wants conversations that leave your mind spinning and your heart pounding. She wants the ugly, the beautiful, the real. If you’re not ready to undress your soul, don’t even try to unzip her dress.
Her truth isn’t pretty, and she doesn’t want it to be. It’s sharp, unyielding, and unapologetic. She’s the mirror you avoid because she shows you what you don’t want to see. Lie to her once, and you’re history. Try to gaslight her, and she’ll light your whole world on fire—metaphorically, or maybe not.
Love? She’s redefined it. Her love doesn’t break you; it builds you. It’s not a prison, it’s a launching pad. She won’t cage you, but she also won’t let you clip her wings. If you want to run, go. If you want to stay, prove it. She’s not here to be your convenience, your option, or your backup plan.
She’s got a PhD in letting go. She’s mastered the art of the exit. She can walk out of your life with the same energy she walked in—head high, heart intact, heels clicking like gunshots on marble. She’s the woman who leaves, and you never recover.
Her sarcasm is her shield, her humor her sword. She’ll slice through your bu****it with a smile so dazzling you’ll forget she just ended you. She’s the punchline and the punch. If you can’t take the heat, don’t step into her kitchen. She’s cooking up confidence, and there are no leftovers for the unworthy.
She’s fiery—molten lava in a world of lukewarm people. She’s not afraid to scorch the earth if it means protecting her peace. She’s the wildfire they can’t contain, the spark that started a revolution. She doesn’t wait for permission to burn bright; she sets her own goddamn world on fire.
She’s cocky, and why shouldn’t she be? She’s earned every ounce of her swagger. She’s survived storms that would have drowned lesser souls. She knows her value, and she’s not giving out discounts. You want her? Step up, or step aside. She’s not lowering the bar for anyone.
She’s bitchy, but only to those who deserve it. Her standards are skyscraper-high, and she’s not apologizing for it. She’s tired of pretending to be less so others can feel more. She’s not here to shrink or soften her edges—she’s here to carve her name into the fu***ng moon.
She’s a badass, not because she’s fearless, but because she faces every fear head-on and walks through fire like it’s a stroll in the park. She’s stitched her wounds with diamond thread and wears her scars like VIP passes to the club of “I survived what tried to destroy me.”
She doesn’t chase anyone. She’s the finish line, not the runner. If you want her, you better be prepared for the marathon. She’s not here for sprinters or those who quit at the first sign of struggle. She’s the prize at the end of a journey—not a participation trophy.
She’s not for the faint of heart. She’s the forbidden fruit, the red flag, the lesson you’ll never forget. She’s the storm you thought you could weather, but she’s also the rainbow after you’re gone. She’s both the warning and the wonder.
She’s done with games. She’s the rule-maker now, and she’ll break her own rules if she feels like it. She’s not afraid to fold the cards and walk away, because she knows the house always wins—and she is the house.
She’s not waiting to be chosen. She’s the one doing the choosing. She’s already picked herself, and everyone else is just an audition. Impress her, or exit stage left. She’s not afraid to be alone, because solitude is her sanctuary, not her sentence.
She leaves people better—or bitter. There’s no in between. She’s the lesson you learn too late, the standard you’ll never meet again, the memory that lingers like perfume on a cold morning. She doesn’t just walk away; she leaves footprints on your soul.
So here’s the gospel: She doesn’t force a fu***ng thing anymore. What stays, stays. What leaves, leaves. Her energy is sacred, her vibe is raw, her love is legendary. Bring war to her peace, and you’ll be erased from her story before you can even beg for a rewrite.
And when the world asks, “Who does she think she is?”—she’ll laugh, toss her hair, and answer, “Everything you wish you could be, and more.” She’s not here to be understood. She’s here to be unforgettable. And baby, she is."
-Steve De'lano Garcia
