I don't want kids
But sometimes I fantasize about being a parent...
So I could treat my child in ways my mother never could.
But what I think I really want
Is to go back
And parent myself

I was always frightened
hiding from what happened to happen
constantly stressed no come down for the wicked
apprehensive to tenderness
running from abandonment
no rest for the wicked

I was always dodging
insults, punches, and negativity
didn't believe that love would kiss me on the cheek
these hounds, hounds of love are after me
I can’t come out of my warped fantasy
I run and jump; the sea catches me
too afraid to confront what is happening

I could never finish writing off your name, with your strawberry scent vibrating towards mine and your hooded eyes that covers the wrinkles and your cheek dampens when you crook a smile, I could never stop writing you.

Maybe I was just drawing a thin line with heaven and a tightrope with my eyes close and hell bent towards the unending loophole of my forsaking fantasies, I guess I might stay here. There was something about you that I cannot forsake nor repaint with foreign colors and another texture — you were as a majestic being in my lucid dream.

That even though I cannot recount my fingers one or two or five or ten, I can picture the deepening hole of your dimples whenever you give the world another unbreathable cheeky beam and I sulk here, waiting for another neon glow of that majestic world in my dreamlike prophetic future.

Something told me it was you. As I bear witness another beauty in the realm of my alternative home, maybe then, peering at the sky while I was on a tightrope is worth every penny of sleep and drowsiness gulping another 90's wine.