I Sexted My Ex And We Accidentally Made Poetry

So I once fooled around with this song-writer and we ended up dating. Our fling fortunately ended on account of him being a giant asshole who never had the decency to apologize for being said giant asshole. What’s a petty girl to do? Capitalize off your douche-y ex, that’s what. #shade

Backtrack – during this time ‘literary sexts’ became a thing mostly owing to a new style of sexting and poetry writing coming from a book of the same name by Caitlyn Seihl and Amanda Oaks. Days after me and the guy first got together, I drunkenly sent him a couple of creepy, impulsive poetic sexts at 4AM. To my surprise, when I woke up hung-over and guilty over my drunk-sexting, he replied. What followed was a string of poetry sexts spontaneously written and sent back and forth.

This series is called “Sexting Claus And His Replies.” Here’s my dirty laundry in poetic form and below it are screenshots of his replies. Enjoy.

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sext: I am so fucking hungry for your attention. I am starving for your eyes. Look at me. Look at me. Look at me. (I’m here.)

sext: I am searching for a place to call home. Can it be you?

sext: Could you love me enough to write about me forever?

sext: You can write similes about my thighs and I can write metaphors about your spine. I swear I’m not a creep.

sext: I’d like to cry for better things this year.

sext: We sound so good on paper. Wanna test it out?

sext: They have left. The lights no longer blind us yet we burn alone, still. Spit her on the gavel stone and I’ll bleed him on the snow. We can douse ourselves in gasoline and peel the sunburn off each other’s back.

sext: You sound like someone I could fall in love with. Let’s break together.

sext: I want to freestyle dive headfirst into the moonpools of your eyes. I don’t know how to swim, but who the fuck cares? I dare you. Make music out of me.

sext: Wanna embarrass ourselves in front of our friends?

sext: The tender way you touch things could dismantle the fucking sun.

sext: Kiss me until it no longer hurts. Until the only flavor we have left is each other’s last name, stuck behind your teeth.

sext: I am the flavor of the sky burning. Can you taste me?

***

Here’s the screenshot of our sexts. His was sent in one big message so I had to cut and paste it like so. There are a total of two images. My texts are the ones in blue and his replies are in grey. (No idea why he’s saying next instead of sext but to each their own?)