We Didn’t Talk About Him Being My Everything…

Up to this point… nothing that I have revealed to you all is normal. And while I am quite extraordinary (*toots own horn*), I am going to be transparent. I am a TWENTY SEVEN year old woman. I fuck up… a lot dude….. and let me tell you…. About 75% of my fuck ups involve persons with penises… Meeting the “male” has literally brought the absolute best and worst out of me. Eventually, I will share with you guys the “defining males” that shape the woman behind Bold,Beat and Nipless in my own order, on my own time. But first… Let us start with man who watched me die, and the one who brought me back to life, the one who get’s my juices flowing in more ways than three……… let’s start with the man behind “I Don’t Care”.

Everything that I had ever heard about him did not prepare me for all the things that he is… and it especially didn’t prepare me for all that he isn’t.

He is easy-going, hilarious and misunderstood… He is strong but weak at the same time… He is loving but full of hate… and he is so broken but so loyal.

The day I met him… I was not myself. We had been texting for two days, but I managed to keep the chaos that my life was out of our conversations. It may not seem like much, but for me to focus on something other than cancer was immediately refreshing. I was crushing on a cute guy. I was finally waiting for a text or call that wasn’t a doctor.

So as I was saying, I was completely blindsided by him and it’s mostly because I see him and I see myself. If all these things weren’t enough to throw me off… we also share the same birthday. He is a year older, but it is still weird. Everything about meeting him, and him entering my already full life will always be something that I will always wonder about, but… I will never question it. Without him, I would still beat cancer of course. But I am quite sure that I wouldn’t have been as happy. I would not have felt beautiful or normal. While everyone else treated me like a cancer patient… Dion…well he always made me feel like a normal 26 year old. Falling in love with him was easy, it happened fast, and it was the only thing that I was certain of at this time. Every moment with him was an escape, I could lose myself in the time we spent together and that was completely okay with him. The few times that I would get worked up over cancer he always brought me back. Naturally, he became my personal chill pill. I was able to call him whenever and he would come, roll up a blunt and fall asleep with me. There were nights I would wake up sweaty and in tears and in his sleep he would hold me. We never talked about these things, because I knew that he was not the type to be with me. Some would say I settled… but those same few wouldn’t understand my need to feel safe by any means necessary.

I am not quite sure why I felt safe with him… to be 100% honest… we talked for about an hour the first night we hung out, fucked for about seven hours… and he stayed the night… and just about every night that week… Our situation was so hot and sticky and fun.. So illicit…

So normal….. compared to waiting to hear if you have fucking cancer

We never talked about him being my everything…. We actually laughed at the thought of cancer because it was no way our little fun we had been having that whole WEEK would be interrupted by some “lumps”… then we said how lump rhymed with hump………… and hump we did all fucking night… but we never talked about him being my everything… we did the “could you imagine”s and said I would be hot bald… then he rubbed my face… kissed me and ate my pussy till I screamed…. But in between all of those orgasms… we never talked about him being my everything….

But it was crazy because when he called me after my appointment…. And I burst into tears…

He said “We got it…”

“We? I just met you… this is too much.. I have those fucking kids… fuck.. my kids…”

He said “Don’t tell me what is too much….. I’ll see you later”

Later was the most passionate later I’ve ever had in my life…. That motherfucker fucked me like I said I was dying tomorrow….

That night… the very night I was diagnosed…. July 28, 2015…. (or maybe early morning the 29th….) He became my everthing.. but we didn’t talk about it….


Fast Forward… its April 2017… fuck…

Treatment is done…… surgeries are done…. Tits are battered as fuck but dammit I look good…. Hair is pretty as fuck… I am working… our house is nice as fuck…  we have come a LONG way…. Yet… this shell.. this insecure fucking shell that I am left with is fucking everything up…


I wrote “I don’t care” literally in the middle of one of our arguments… one of the arguments that we always have… where he keeps saying he loves me and to fucking stop screaming and hitting.. to stop accusing him of not loving me…

But I couldn’t stop because I couldn’t explain what I was trying to say…. Because deep down I knew I was being a fucking bitch…

Could he have done more? Duh! And he would’ve.. as he always has… if I would’ve stopped… and I wish I could’ve stopped.. I wish I could see that he really is loving me with all his little fucking heart…. But its so hard to love someone who is insecure…


Cancer’s best friend is loss… never ending loss… nothing is out of its fucking reach….

I lost ME…. And though I am finding myself again… I hope I didn’t lose “WE”

I hope all the damage this shit caused doesn’t make him wanna flee… I hope that he look past every episode and still see DOMONIQUE….

fuck.. this wasnt supposed to be a poem… or even poetic…

I guess it makes it sound  more pleasant… I’d say it all again if he could get the message…




      1. I totally agree. Facebook is limiting to writers and everyone has opinions but is quickly shot down for having them. Plus someppl have agendas to just vent on Facebook instead of writing in a creative manner so that others could relate thoroughly. I am writing a short story now and am loving it better than posting on Facebook


  1. For those of us who have suffered a trauma– and I mean any kind of trauma– we walk out deeply afraid that if anyone saw our true self, just how “damaged” we think we are, that they will abandon us. So we test them over and over again. Like we are unconsciously screaming, “Can you still love me now?!” “How about now?!” It is our shit, not our loved ones’, but it is a hard behavior to unlearn, at least for me. I so get this.


      1. It is incredibly freeing to say my truth matters. We all do some bleeding on the screen– some of us more than others. People respect your truth, your vulnerability and your fierceness– keeping rockin’ you Dom and don’t feel embarrassed. It is a beautiful, real, powerful thing.


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