sext : *let me write a poem
on the insides of your thighs..
with my tongue

have i seen her since?
i haven't
although i see her everywhere i turn
everywhere i go
and in everything i do

yes i miss her and it hurts like hell
but i have to let my body feel this

Others, want you.
I can easily tell.
They give themselves away.
Just by the things they do.
And the things they say.

It might be in a whisper.
It might be in an innocent gift.
Just believe me others want you.

It's a compliment to me.
Which makes me so happy.

Now my clothes are stained with the memory's of the boys that took them off.

The ones that never bothered to learn my middle name.

And I never found out their favourite colour...

"Healing ,it takes time. Because to let the pain settle to form a scar you need to stay focused on a new form of pain. You realize pain is a consistent idea. Soon to discover that any hope you believed in is gone. No illusion of pain ending its course in your life that will help heal your first scar that cut you deep, so deep that reality settles itself in. Truth comes to be that healing is a soothing idea you hear from people lost in it's illusion."

People often use the term "home is where the heart is" as reference that home is a literal place. That you can touch it, feel it, live in it and it's physically there. But I just can't seem to wrap my mind around that. Because my heart belongs to a home that isn't there in a physical sense. My home is the way you say my name and draw circles on my lower back. My home is built and structured in between your arms and in the crook of your neck. I've never felt more at home then when we are skin to skin and I want to pull you even closer. No my home is not a building, my home is you and that's where my heart will always be.