Whatever it is that attracts a moth to burning flame
is seen by me as a mysterious sacrificial love game.
The moth is just an insect and that flame is of fire
and so gets consumed in the heat of all its desire.
His dark eyes were mesmerizing
haunting me with their intensity
wondering what is behind this darkness
good or evil
beauty or destruction
knowledge or ignorance
and suddenly I hold back my restless mind
abandoning to this seductive trance
of the unknown and dangerous
this man out of nowhere could be
or my killer
so I will love him
for those few minutes
of desperate forbidden bliss
resting into my arms.
Asking him to forgive me later
for not loving him always
as I am split and untamed
inside my own dark wilderness.
Why do I equate being liked
With being attractive
Constantly thinking showing my body
Will make you want me
I hate my body
But I think I should show it to you
Is it society telling me to
Or am I just fucked up?
I am not sure
I don't know
Whenever I want attention
My clothes slowly start to dwindle
When I want affection
My makeup starts to thicken
Maybe I turn into the woman I wish I was
Maybe I turn into the woman I'm told to be
From the slightest flare that is to peak,
Follows fortuitous desires, so to speak,
That churn with an eerie tune,
Puffed with a fine wind of perfume -
A Bellow of excitement from above the heart,
Floating a-mist this bubbling dart -
Feelings of wit and humble desire,
That speak, speak, speak inside this fire,
In hopes that a spark confine this attraction,
Which fiddles in time with utmost distraction,
Strong urges a-mist a serene confession,
That lengthen and lengthen with each dear session -
Before the tomb put forth such senseless transgression,
In pity and shame, the law's digression.
My attraction towards her was fatal.
For the realest things to come from her lips affected me in more ways than one.
You see truth speaks volume.
And the beauty that comes from her lips was more than I anticipated.
Feeling my attraction begin to rise.
I attempted to switch the subject.
Finding that we both shared the same amount of pain.
Adding value to each subject that rose.
I began to feel that there was more for me.
My self consciousness reacting before I could gather myself completely.
I felt a sense of liberation.
No longer the day I had at work, what I was planning to eat on the way home.
More instead how every other thought included her.
The respect held eye to eye.
The avenues of how her day went, the ins and outs.
The evidence that I found what I was missing.
And I didn't understand one bit.
I suppose it's better that way.
Stepping outside of myself into the crossway leading off into the street.
A dark backdrop highlighted by a white light of a bald man walking before it turns
A reddish orange.
Though nothing is as harmless as it seems.
I felt at ease staring into her eyes.
Stepping inside of her mind was like walking into an art gallery.
Her interests, technological advances all highlighted in bright and violet hue.
All in the span of 10 minutes walking in.
Mutually we both spoke with our hands.
We'd throw fits with our laughs, indulging in the philosophy of smile.
With morality aroused I instantly began questioning myself.
Wanting to know more I asked question, after question.
Anything as a means to have kept her talking. Feeling an everlasting peace.
Walking downtown in an abundance of space, I felt I could breathe.
But I couldn't shake that she felt that I was like most guys.
That at any moment, as comfortable as she was, she was still waiting on me
to give any indication that I was no different than the faces pointed down scrolling down their phone.
Like separate thumbs.
Belonged to different people