wear my thick skin
like armor with my heart
on my sleeve
because I love to give it out
but I'll be ****** if I'll take that **** back
so I guess I'm just one way traffic
a conduit for a confused Confucius conveying crap
poems of purple prose pretentiously purposefully pretty
self loathing can be as strong as love
because we love to hate ourselves
maybe it's just extreme modesty
and you always called me a wolf
because heat seemed to come off my body
in waves
even on the coldest night
I think it's just the kinetic energy of the words in my head
playing bumper cars
at a million miles an hour
and I always have an idea of a poem
when I sit down
and then it gets away from me
and runs circles around me
just like you when we argue
the only difference is
I would always tell the poem
that it was right
so I don't know what that means