It’s not the thrill of danger that draws me in,
Not the rush of dominance or the shield of his strength.
I’ve walked the good path twice !
one left me tangled in strangeness,
the other trailed me, smothering,
wrapped too tight in his own need.

I crave space like air,
and once I make that clear,
the so-called “bad” one understands.
He doesn’t always agree, but he respects the line.
Meanwhile, the good man wilts, hurt,
playing the victim in his own love story.

It’s not the edge I love, but the calm it brings,
the way his fierce care meets my quiet peace.
I never asked for a wild heart or a man with fire in his veins,
but I love that he’ll burn miles just to be by my side when I’m low,
while the good man calls to deliver fruit, his kindness somehow distant.

They tell me to seek safety,
but I have it , not in soft words or easy gestures,
but in the strength of a storm that settles, when I need it most.
S.B