Self love is not love but anti-love
Parts are but to be mutually fitted
And imperfections only seeming
Ceasing to be in the perfected whole
But is not if any part seeks its own

Seeking love in all the wrong places
Clasping a shattered heart
Ridiculed by the mannequin smiles and
****** temptations that once sparked the dreams
Washed out and worn out by the fakery of love

Captivating smiles, dressed up to the nines
Utter the lies to entrap the man
Pity the youth who knows not
Instincts learned over pain and time
Don’t go there for love is a lie

like all, I yearned to love
in spite of potential pain
but now this anti-love bites hard
agony and shock surge through my veins

an army of fury and contempt
rush forth, crown fear both queen and king
this anti-love marches on
attacking with rage-inducing sting

but I can't hate this anti-love, no
I confess when push comes to shove
I cherish the teensy bits of joy
I share with the little ant I love

Anti-this and Anti-that.


She’s got a smile like a nuclear bomb.
I’m blown away by a never-be blonde.
She likes the dark life and so do I.
I never, never, ever want to see her cry.


She needs to be loved,
Like I need an intravenous-nicotine-drip.
She doesn’t care, about any of this!
Nothing matters!  She doesn’t want to be loved
And all because…
LIFE *****!!


She’s anti-this!
And anti-that!
The love she needs, she has never had.
She’s got a family who love her so much,
But this anti-life girl needs somebody to love.


If you say “Hi.” She puts her headphones on.
If she has to buy you a present, then she will send you a bomb!
If she only knew, that she was oh so wrong;
She is not so far gone that she has to remain on her own.


She needs to be loved, like a fish needs water.
She needs someone, to kiss and to hold her.
She needs all the things that only love can bring.
She says she doesn’t need a God-**** thing!!


She’s anti-me and anti-you.
She’s anti-man and anti-hu.
She’s anti-love,
When she needs it the most.
She needs love…

(Love is all I that know…)


(C)2018 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.

You said you loved me
but now you are trying to ruin me.

You said you loved me
but now you are destroying me.

You said you loved me
but now you are being horrible to me.

Why would you lie
and try so hard to make me cry?

Why would you lie
and act always so cruel and sly?

Why would you lie
and try to make me want to die?

You said you loved me
so why would you lie?

I wish that you wouldn't smile
for every time you do
my fragile heart skips a beat
and I start feeling blue.

I wish that you wouldn't laugh
it makes me like you more
every one little giggle
is something I adore.

I wish that you wouldn't speak
at least not right to me
it makes me have butterflies
my heart screams "Let me be!"

I wish that you wouldn't look
straight at me like you do
as if you're searching my soul
and making me want you.

But though I wish all these things
I hope it won't come true
I don't want you to stop the
things that make me like you.

I am but a grain of sand
amongst all of your other loves.
Still, I run to you with open arms,
for it is you my soul loves.

Why do I come back
Knowing what I know?
No matter the knowledge,
my heart seeks for you so.

When will I wake up
from this dream I'm dreaming?
I will never be enough
to satisfy your cravings.

Someday, I know, I'll move on
and the sun will smile at me.
For now, my heart can't rest.
It begs "let me be."

You seem to have forgotten
about all the times we shared.
It seems it slipped your mind
that we're better as a pair.

You seem to not remember
all those beautiful restless days.
It seems your memory escapes you
and our love was just a phase.

Did you lose your memory?
Or was it purposely erased?
Is there a way I can restore it?
Or has our love been just a waste?

If love is what fixes every deepened wound
then why am I hurting?
If love is the answer to every problem
then why am I questioning?

If love is the sunshine on a dark day
then why am I feeling cold?
If love is a miracle potion that keeps you young
then why am I feeling old?

If love is what makes the world go round
then why am I stuck standing still?
If love is the band aid that protects all of your cuts
then why am I not yet healed?

If love is the only thing that is true
then why do I doubt?
If love demands you to be faithful
then why do I want to bail out?

If love is what you claim to be giving
then why am I always crying?
If love is what you say you're doing
then why inside am I dying?

If love is when you hold my throat
then why do they say I should want it?
If love is when you call me names
then why do they say I should like it?

If love is the night you pinned me to the ground
then why is everyone searching for it?
If love is the way you slammed me against the wall
then why is it crushing my spirits?

If love is the thing I'm receiving from you
then why am I always bruised?
If this is love, I do not want it.
Love is sacred, and not abuse.

I’ve forgotten the taste of love. The cherished threads that tie people together.
The feelings they profess in supposed honesty, the joy and ecstasy.
I’ve missed opportunities, naturally. Nature played me.
Distraught, I ran from a thought.
I ran a lot.

At the gates of responsibility’s exit, I had another thought. One without definition or reason.
Another ego maniacal ***** fit. A watered down vintage. Faked antique.
Off balance in a world out of balance, yet fools think they cancel each other out.
Sometimes it’s enough to lighten the load — fill the hole.
Usually not.

Escaping reality has its perks. You don’t feel bludgeoned by your actions or burdened by their consequences.
I think of the past as a mirror, when it’s really just a sprightly melancholic, yet gut wrenching, novel awaiting a squeal.
And I’m the only one who can write it. Expecting anyone else to would make the end predictable.
This is how all sad ironies of life must end.
Off the top of my head.

I’ve forgotten myself. I sometimes can’t recognize the person inside this shell.
These actions, thoughts, this ego — I am more than I know or understand.
Not necessarily a bad thing. Most definitely not a good thing either.
Come out guns blazing and paint the town only to apologize profusely — to each and every rotten corpse thereafter — to each and every ***** **** and dripping ****.
I am not your savior.

I make my own hell. I made this bed the day I claimed my throne.
And all your dreams flew into my **** ready to be ****** and multiplied. Progenies of your inner war. The cruelty of your being made thought, sin made flesh, hate made speech.
A victim of the false promise, the martyr of a hollow conscience. I am the end result of my own intentions.
I hate this.