My friends, this is for you.

I'm waving the white flag, you stale ass mickey fickeys... I have come to terms with the fact that I attract the Wrong people. Such is my fate. This morning has proven to be an omen... I shall never be free. And so, I bequeath this day to the Wrongs, in all of their majestic, hellacious, wretchedness. The Wrongs: I attract them online. I attract them in the store with my momma. I attract them in my front yard washing my car. I just attract the Wrong Ass folks. Not only are they Wrong, they're persistant. I've resigned that I may spend the rest of my life in eternal torture at the hands of the Wrong. The Wrong's will always find out where I work, even if I switch jobs a million times. They'll always get my private extension somehow. I will be doomed to have odd shit delivered to my job in the morning for all eternity. Co-workers will writhe with envy because they didn't receive a package (Wow Misty, it's not Valentines yet!)... but they will never know the torture behind such gifts. Fucka Valentine. I dont have a REAL Valentine, do I? No. I have the Wrongs. No, there is no peace in the valley for The Neighborhood Queen. I recognize this, and I hereby give the Wrongs the sovereignty they deserve, for making my life a living soap opera nightmare. So this is for the Wrongs. This is for all the panties (that might have been sexy if they were from someone... anyone... else). All the candy. All the notes left on my car telling me to meet you in nothing but said panties. All the flowers. All the shit they have no business buying me. The plane tickets I told you not to buy because I'm not coming to your house with the fireplace. The drank I refused to drink. The dinners I decline. This is for all the times I've written "Return To Sender"... for all the future times I will write it. This is for the "Made Me Think Of You" CD's I've received with sad ass songs like "I will always love you" by Troop (which is one of my favorite songs... fuckers!) or "All I do is Think of You". Songs like that have that sad desperate undertone of unrequited love, forbidden love, all that shit. This is for the Maalox I've got to choke down to cure my sick stomach at the thought of letting any of the Wrongs touch me. This is for my poor cell phone that I'm forced to turn off. This is for my clogged voicemail that I'm afraid to check. This is for the Wo-Men of the Rainbow who approach me with more boldness than any nigga I've ever seen. This is for the fact that my momma clowned me because of this. This is for all the unwanted drinks during that brief stint where I tried to go out all the time. This is for the poor innocent lil kids that have heard some nigga say, "Say hi to Misty... she shoulda been your momma". This is for the girlfriends and baby mommas that reside in my shadow to this day. I am sorry. For all the heffas I've never met and will never meet, that hate me nonetheless. This is for the cuss words I've had to waste. The overuse of my middle finger. This is for the homes I've inadvertently wrecked, or nearly wrecked. It ain't my fault, I swear. For the wasted gas used coming to my house. For that one time I snapped and threw a rock at one of you. This is your day, suckas. Enjoy it. Relish it. I, in all my Royal Office and Supreme Reign, give this day, the Twenty-Fourth of January, the year of our Lord Two-Thousand and Five to the Wrongs. The Stalkalistic Summamabitches. The Sugar Daddies. The Old Fucks who dont get it. All of you. This is your day. I surrender. Sincerely, Her Imperial Majesty, MiniMee-MistyMarie, Neighborhood Queen (Reigning Supreme).