I need you now more than ever.
I’m wondering why you don’t check on me constantly or at least check how I’m living.
Teach me what it is to be a man, so that I could easily sass out all the counterfeits. I’m doing it by myself, and I’m struggling.
How many tears and heart breaks should I go through to just realise these boys arent good for me.
Just do your job and be my dad.
I don’t want to go back to referring to you as a sperm donor again.
“Our culture tries to un-complicate sex by advocating to, “do it often and with multiple partners.” We try to un-complicate sex by dumbing it down to a mere appetite. Even if it were a mere appetite then a good majority of our culture could be classified as sexually obese. Let’s face it. Sex is complicated. It is the driving force of many people’s lives. And they will loose all human reason to indulge in it for a fleeting second. Sex is powerful. It has the power to bind together or tear apart. It has the power to heal or destroy. It has the power to build up or tear down. It has the power to give or to take. It has the power to mar or to make beautiful.” – Mandy Dobbleman
Sometimes i wish what never killed me actually did… like my lips, i wonder how you never managed to taste insecurities and words i never let slipped out when we kissed. Remember when i told you, you gave me butterflies? What i had meant was the butterflies in my stomach are more like cocoons and that they had the same idea as you when it came to waiting for the right time to bloom. You’re probably going to break my heart and i’m probably going to let you, but i will hold onto you like the father i had to watch leave, i will hold onto until it hurts… your ribcage will feel like it’s caving in and at the verge of digging into your heart. i’m haunted by the nights in bed where i was holding you & you were holding a grudge. What’s the exchange rate on an unforgettable memory? Do I have to burn every place that can recall me slowly falling for you?
I wish I could live off more meaningful things.
I wish my poetry could keep me warm at night.
I wish I didn’t need people like I usually do.
It would be so great if metaphors talked back,
Or similies could hold deep conversations
During midnight hours,
When my mind finally agrees to rest.
If words had a chest,
I would lay my head on it,
And use it as a place where I can rest my insecurities.
If I could cry on Word’s broad shoulders…
I would cry away the pain that love has caused me,
I would cry until my heart spills out and lands up on its sleeve.
I wouldn’t have to worry about unanswered calls or unread texts,
Becacuse words truly speak to me.
I know, even when I don’t write in a long time,
My loyalty will never have to be questioned.
Because my love for Words is deeper than human relations,
I have a supernatural connection.
Even in sickness,
I would be restored to life,
Because even when Words aren’t around,
Their presence resignates deeply in me,
That I feel them inside.