The pains in my belly
Are almost comforting.
Something’s inside down there and you’re creating it.
can you feel her?
She’s in there
Waiting for me,
Waiting for mommy to make up her mind, Waiting for me to use my sense, Waiting for me by handing me the opportunity not to be useless.
I’m sorry daddy just isn’t happy..
I want you to know that
Mommy just isn’t ready
And mommy would never place a lifetime of harm upon you.
You are the design combined of everything I’ve wanted
and everything I’ve loved.
You’re what I always wanted.
I just can’t bare to give you up...
Mommy will be with you in another life...
a safe place for us to play.
a safe place for you to grow.
I’ll be ready then.
I love you my all
Until we meet again my bean
~ sincerely, a pregnant teen
Such a decision no not based on pride but empathy and reason for another number in our horrid foster system.
Don’t you remember the bruised knees
and those damm hickeys
that’d almost leave you bleeding?
Every lick that tasted of candy
with the biting that left your lip with plumped red swelling?
Plus every squeeze that stopped your breathing?
You could open your eyes wide
only to have them roll back inside.
When gentle and nice were put aside
because let’s face it
there’s a much better way
to have a good time.
Weren’t those the days!?
When pain was THE gain.
Playing life’s good ole f u k i n game
with your playing piece
in between its teeth
that bit down with anything but ease.
I’ve played life the game
because who needs to be in love these days?
We used pain as an escape
since we were dumb
because that’s what we called it..
We called it “love”
‘Oh but wasn’t that love?’
No, it was pain
and it’s all the same
now in days, so I kinda liked it that way.
We learned to yearn the pain because our minds turned our blind eyes away from what was really in the way of our growing brains.
To embrace the bottomless presence of fluttering wings,
Brushing ever so lightly on each side of my internal entity.
Do I dare?
Live with the impulse within side me?
To bestow the emotional strength to deny any action led thought my mind plays?
Sought to push every trace of something more between the two.
Whilst ne’er be an I and you?
When all the forbidden,
Reveals our truth.
From either of the two,
No words are used,
But both know our forbidden fruit lays within you.
Just a kernel awaiting to be used to plant its itty bitty seedling where the heart is slowly beating,
While natural magnetism endlessly glazes it’s way between candy stones and gummy sour kids.
Just when the sweet stickiness resides in our own consciousness,
It reminds with ease that there could never be a you and me...
For when candy stones dissolve utter contemplation,
For our words will now on stick like gummy sour kids in a melted mess of cowardice.
“Hear me? My almighty!”
Do I dare?
Touch the unlovable?
To love the untouchable?
And thus live with ceaseless guilt?
Or mask what I truly felt,
Over my own candy built tooth.
You don’t choose what we love.
Love chooses you! so then what am I to do.. when it comes to you...?
Can’t bare to hold our truth and I couldn't dare to keep it true.
𝖯lain, generic, and, sweet.
𝖲omething that just can’t be beat.
𝖳he irony of so many.
𝖵anilla is not of any.
Godly silk of milky white and an Understatement of unrequited
𝖲he lies supine waiting for vanilla to pick a side.
𝖩ust above the rim of the cup,
vanilla built all the way to the top, with No mix-ins, an overscoop just for you, and a smile on the side too.
𝖲even o’three is what is going to be.
𝖲even o’three and a firm grip on me.
𝖸es the irony of choosing originality when its the exact opposite of what you preach
𝖤specially in between the sheets.
𝖨ndeed nothing to write home about
just a medium cup of soupy iced cream.
𝖠 flavor so **** sweet that’s sadly not for me.
𝖲weet memories in time.
𝖨’ll continue on
with vanilla on my mind.
Medium vanilla with no toppings.
How ordinary yet you aren’t like of any.
vanilla is you but vanilla isn’t what you are. Vanilla isn’t how you play vanilla is what you taste.
Listen to me you’re better than
I so who am I to decide
what happens in life
who am I to say you’re to blame
who am I to know what you’ll never show
who are we to decide
what fait has in mind
for these weary eyes
honey what a prize to have by your side but you’re too arrogant to realize
patronizing romanticism all for our god given life of prison
I’ve hurt many By my hand without purpose but it was never of spite it was never of rage
I am literally insane and I’m sorry for what I’ve done to all who’ve come my way in my path and stood by even tho It wasn’t right