meeting _men_
was always that easy.
it was evident
in the way I
plan to prepare myself
to venture out
in the uncertainty of the open
trying to align
the inevitable disappointment
on my self-predicament.
the way I trace
the marks of _ugly_, visibly seen
onto my body
hoping that someone
would like the art;
the interpretation
of my
flaws and sad beauty.
_it was always easy_
to try calming the nerves
as I knock at his door, the pounding
of my heart
from excitement, fear
and self-loathing
as soon as the eyes
of the outside world cannot see
what lies
behind these walls
that covers
not only our fragile bodies,
but also, our weakened souls
till everything is a blur.
meeting men was always
that _easy._
it's the same thing
as we put back our clothes
and _maybe_,
kiss goodbye
then run away, with such bliss
from the thrill of doing
what others can do freely
amplified
by the pulsing adrenaline
panicked, weary
if anyone saw
what we have done.
-----------
_meeting him again?_
that's the hard part.