Don't use the movies to try to make yourself, the perfect man?
Eventually, you come to the realization, they only playing apart.

And in facts and truth, even your perfect man will have faults.

Too many of you want a Gere or Denzel type.
Like, you comprehend everything nice about their lives.

A perfect man falls under the word image.
Then don't most of us?
Presenting a pretense to those, we are trying to win to love.

Don't ever question,
      my heart; that beats only for you.
You write about heartbreak, always dejected,
    each word, each stanza, each tear, on tattered paper.

Just know,
    I can't erase love; for grief is human desire.
Nonetheless,
  I will pick you off the ground,
     and say "I love you"

_______

𝓓𝓸𝓷'𝓽, 𝓽𝓻𝔂 𝓽𝓸 𝓼𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓶𝓮.
   𝓗𝓸𝓵𝓭 𝓶𝔂 𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓭,
     𝓾𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓵 𝓘 𝓬𝓪𝓷 𝓼𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓶𝔂𝓼𝓮𝓵𝓯.

Are they racist?
Or intimidated of their own.
For, they intimidated by BLM groups.

And they hadn't created harm to anyone.

Same, with the Black Panthers of decades past.

Figure that?

Those of their own hiding in sheets.
History books and movies don't do them justice.
But anything strong and black they are quick to protest.

Figure that?

How about
we explore
and expose
the underbelly
of our drunken tongues

I want to fall in love
with your ugly
and
forget why
once morning has begun

There's this special seed inside of us
That glitters, shines, and grows
Planted by an equally special person
One that everybody knows.
The one that woke up early this morning
And downed their coffee for the day
While you dig out your favorite shirt
And they keep their nerves at bay.
The person that decorates for new children
Hangs up posters and note cards
Tacks up the yearly alphabet trim
And clears the weeds from the school yard.
Stands and greets equally nervous kids
Hands them name tags and a book
And hopes that their anxiety melts away
To be excited like they should.
The history and math books open
Pages are assigned
They're there to help you through it
To make problems easier to find.
To journey across another dimension
Of equations and butterflies alike
That prepares you for ACTs ahead
And tests that you'll probably dislike.
Well, that's all fine and dandy
All these books and passing grades
But what's more important is the seed inside
That's planted in your brain.
The seed that fuels your drive to learn
Creates a light to help you grow
Makes you crave another book
Acquire everything there is to know.
And I know a certain farmer
That specializes in these seeds
Who wants to make you reach the top
So you'll realize everything you can be.
These farmers go by 'teachers'
The most amazing you can find
Because of them, I try to be my best
So I thank my teachers for their time.

The butterflies in my stomach
are nothing more than dust,
decayed wings
crumbled to oblivion.
Once caterpillars, fed on smiles,
caresses, laughs, and
the stars in your eyes,
they grew until they blossomed.
They wrapped themselves up
in the warmth of hope and the
promise of the sparkling future
you whispered to them.
Out burst their brilliant wings,
colored and magnificent,
fearlessly beating and tickling
my insides, making me blush.
Oh, how they fluttered and danced
in my cavernous torso,
almost flying out of my mouth
to kiss your cheeks with their wings.
Imagine their surprise when you left,
their wings slowed, they landed, slept,
quietly waiting your return,
but you never came to wake them again.
Skeletons of beauty and joy,
they lie at the pit of my stomach,
their weight is so light,
yet miserably heavy.