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THE EXCUSE USED WAS THAT I HAD
WRITER'S BLOCK.

UNTIL I STARTED BEING HONEST
WITH MYSELF,

AND ADMITTED I WAS TERRIFIED
OF CREATING SOMETHING THAT
PEOPLE WOULDN'T LIKE.

I WAS TERRIFIED OF NOT BEING ENOUGH,

EVEN FOR MYSELF.
I hate you for reading my mind
But I hate it even more when you don't
Maybe I'm drowning in a daydream
Or maybe I've been asleep a little too long
With my heart set on a girlish fantasy
To the lulling beat of an 80's love song
I'm only set up for disappointment
When I press pause on my MP3
Because reality only leads to resentment
For expecting this idea of love to be bestowed upon me.
I found myself stuttering yesterday...
clumsily tripping, fumbling,
over words.
The explanation of my whereabouts -
in question.
Like a guilty child.

Awareness then anger emerge.
irritated, indignant hostility.
That I would allow this again -
over and over and over again…

Trying to account for every moment beneath suspicious eyes. Groundless guilt rising up, as I choke, words broke and unspoke

- while the little voice in my head screams "I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG!"
conditioned (kənˈdɪʃənd)  adj
1. (Psychology) psychol of or denoting a response that has been learned. Compare unconditioned
2. (foll by to) accustomed; inured; prepared by training

un·con·di·tioned (ŭn′kən-dĭsh′ənd)  adj
1. (Psychology) psychol characterizing an innate reflex and the stimulus and response that form parts of it. Compare conditioned1
2. (Philosophy) metaphysics unrestricted by conditions; infinite; absolute
3. without limitations; unconditional
Leave the lights on I want to look at you
Don't you dare let the music stop
Hold my hand it doesn't matter if it doesn't fit
Take me under you I like when you're on top
Kiss my collarbones and trace my wrists
Give it to me anyway you like I love you
I love this
I love it
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