My body language resembled it's own comfort.
It was not preached to me,
although she is attacked,
for those who can not connect with her usual.
Her comfort is a barrier,
created by unacceptance.

I see him,
unclean face, alcohol soothes over his lip.
Perfect symmetry.
With a stumble over his left foot,
his presence was affront my uneasiness.
He speaks a tale of how he reads me,
how he can discover me.
How each syllable spit off his tongue,
craves my body.
He states "my kind" are more appealing lacking voice,
with our legs a distance from another.

I am scolded.
I am scolded for my lack in ability.
They do not know,
I was never taught,
No one is.
One leg is demanded to lay over the other.
The curriculum reads it to be so.
"Your kind is in a lack of grace."

Someone close,
sits aside my quivering body.
Everyone seemed to express immense
freeness.
I was unaware of this comfort.
"Let your legs breathe for a change."

"My kind" is not righted to
the feelings of openness or security.
All for the positioning of the lower part of the body.
Open for a drunken hand to slip where
it mustn't reach,
Closed for the restoration of grace in a society.

My kind is a doorway to be used by the world.

The end is in partaking. It is not one or the other, but both. All must be over. But, the love lives on. It must never die. Shakespeare did  not compose love for it to die. He wrote so that we, the humble but weak, could  learn. And as we learn, we grow a passion in our hearts. This passion grows. It grows like an infant. At first so meek, not aware of how much damage he or she will do to another’s character. The matter is, we are fragile.  Our hearts eat themselves raw everyday. Broken down from another, we crawl, just as the infant.

Every emotion I had grasped in my mind from the beginning to end was just aspiring dishonesty. Is it that I wished it was false or was my vague memory creating another sugar-coated scenario? But, this was not sweet. My mind was no longer set to correct my actions. My heart, or what was left in tact ran as far as it could to shelter. But, there was no shelter. My life was wide open as it always had been...but his was not. It never would be. It was not that he lied, but was completely honest. He said he loved me. I was screaming inside. “How could you do this to me...again?” I was always his rubble of emotions to throw out when it was too much for him to handle. Life itself was way beyond his reach. I could never comprehend this about him. All I ever wanted to do was love him. But, without his mind being clear he himself would never be present in love or any situation for the matter, and he would soon disappear. Extinct to the society where love was the farthest, but yet greatest reward. It was not an excuse. Not this time. Not ever. I guilted at these words.
How could I damage him anymore than he already claimed to be? He could say that it was not me. It did no use. I always grasped the thought that I could **** one’s self worth. It was not my intention. I spent so long blaming it on love. I was right. How else could I betray the one friend that made my life a shameless place for me to show self expression? I did it for him. He held my heart to a higher amount than his own.