Can I be loved?
Or is it overrated.
Is self love enough?
Or am I walking on a thin rope, my eyes, shut closed, I may die in my misery, a façade of continuous joy.
Am I to be loved, in my embodiment of Aphrodite herself.
Maybe I am too closed off.
Or maybe I am too pure.
These contradictions are my addictions and I can never seem to pick between the two.
Maybe love is too good for me, like a curse that strings me to the depths of insanity where love cannot even be justified.
Maybe I am a monster in my drowning tears.
Or maybe, just maybe, I am juxtaposed.
Once they fall in love with me, they fear, run away like cowards with boneless spindles.
My walls so hard, can dynamite even be crushed?

To feel that feeling...
Sensual pleasures...
To hold, to actually feel...
I've lost meaning of the word.

Can I be loved? Or am I too powerful?