A torch song for every queen who dodged a walking red flag.
I lit a candle, opened the app,
Hoped for a man, got a walking trap.
He said, “Hey beautiful,” with a wink and a lie,
Wore Crocs in his pic — you think I’d let that slide?
He called me “wifey” in under a day,
But couldn’t spell “there” the right f**king way.
Told me I’m “too picky,” said I “judge too fast”…
Sorry, your gold chain’s green and your standards are trash.
You want a queen to build you whole,
While you nap in your debt and vape cloud scroll…
But baby, my heart ain’t a rehab bed,
For a man-child with a 3 a.m. thread.
Swipe left, Satan, take your ego and go,
You ain’t deep, you’re just broke and emotionally slow.
Your “spiritual awakening” came from a meme,
And your life coach is your cousin with a pyramid scheme.
Yeah, swipe left, Satan, I don’t need your mess—
I’d rather slow dance with loneliness than settle for less.
You said, “I’m not like the rest of these guys,”
Then sent me a pic of… yeah, surprise.
Wanted “someone loyal” while you flirted on Snap,
I hope your Wi-Fi dies mid-thirst trap.
You bragged about “healing” but never grew,
Still texting your ex like a midnight tattoo.
Told me I had “walls”—damn right I do,
They keep out the boys who can’t afford truth.
You said I’m “too much”… I said “damn right,”
’Cause I’m done dimming down to match your low light.
I won’t be your savior or side quest plan,
I’m not your upgrade—I’m your never again.
Swipe left, Satan, I’m reclaiming my peace,
From the Lord of the Loafers and lies on repeat.
You’re not “real,” you’re a rerun, a desperate reroll,
A diet narcissist with no self-control.
Yeah, swipe left, Satan, take that sad little crown—
I ain’t dating another man-child from Clown
One day, you’ll scroll and see what you lost,
A woman made of wildfire—you couldn’t handle the cost.
But you’ll be too busy ghostin’ your rent,
Still blaming your mom for where your dreams went.
⸻
🎤 Swipe left, Satan, I’m done with the game,
I’m deleting your kind and reclaiming my name.
No more “u up?” or “let’s chill” on my screen—
Just me, my wine, and my self-esteem.
Yeah, swipe left, Satan—this queen’s logged out,
But I’ll sing this slow anthem when your karma comes ’round.
Blocked. Deleted. Delivered. Amen.
FlavorTherapist
