Everyone is gonna be happy / be happy
you're gonna make me so happy / so happy

My sins didn't hold
By sin I'm no more sold
you're poring into me
you're forgiving as can be
the line was formed with red
By your son who rose from the dead
you've taken sin away
i'm fine, so fine this day

your hands have warmed my soul
unlike the sin that was a part
the hole you fill so comfortably
but now i'm pouring out my heart
i will make room i'll empty out
i'll tell my sins to you about
i'll change my everything for you
just keep on doing what you do

Oh, my Medusa
That piercing, seductive stare
Gets me so rock hard.

"braullw nevae falls"
That's 'braille never fails',
Spelled by a blind man.

Matsuo Basho
Turns in his grave: first, five times
then seven, then five.

The dankest of ****
Floats slowly into my lungs
Oh wait...Asbestos.

hahaha ye boiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
yeyeyeyeye ye boiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
hehe wyd

i see things in high definition colour, but
july is the only month that fluctuates—
between florida orange and, later, burnt sienna;
everything between the 1st to the 31st
is dipped in a honey-glaze of three things:
1. warm, sticky air
2. the feeling of 6pm
3. bicycles riding through fields of fireflies.

naturally, i spend most of july in my bedroom—
the heat gets to me, makes my allergies flare
and i watch movies; old, 80s, movies (or—tiktok clips
of the same movie, only broken up into thirty-six parts
that i view from my bed with my naked legs spinning vertical circles through the air).

i always forget the feeling of august
until it’s there again. july
overshadows it with the final embers, so i only realise
it's august on maybe the 5th or 6th. almost
a full week into a month that my brain—
which is never wrong about the way things feel—
sees a deep, ocean blue.

i don't write home about august. i don't hurry it up
through winter months, when i begin the countdown
to hot, hazy days. if anything, i view august
as the ending of something, of a summer i wished so hard for.

and every time, it blindsides me with love.

i love things more in august. i love the smell of summer-
rain on the pavement. i love songs i listened to in january.
i love waiting around for halloween. i love my bedroom,
the pause of heat-sick sleep, the blue-sky mornings.

i write love letters to autumn in a time capsule. i text july and ask u up?, and wyd?, and come over?

and still, when summer ends, i will never want to get what i wish for.

Just beginning.
Wyd are still young.
Still being educated.
Only 40 years ago homosexuality was still considered a mental disorder.
Now equal rights are still non existent.
Sure since then things have gotten better.
But we still are not equal!
People still laugh when they see two men walking down the street holding hands.
People still thing lesbians are just there for there own nasty pleasure.
Kiss your girlfriend it's hot.
You don't say that to straight couples.
You don't stop and yell out the window when you see them.
You don't tell them to kiss for your own pleasure.
You don't go shoot their clubs.
The world is not equal.
We are no where near equal.
We are still lower than heterosexuals.
We are still thought of as sinners by churches.
We are frowned upon.
Youth are thrown out by there parents.
We still live in fear.
No rights til we are equal
**** right I SUPORT it!

So, it starts when he sends you a meme to start a conversation
Wow, what a weird yet clever way of communication
The meme was funny yet not funny, difficult for interpretation
Anyways, you send an emoji to keep up with the situation...
Then , he comments on your picture showing little admiration
You comment a smiley back, maybe a little persuasion??!
He views your IG story, to your grammar, he replies some correction
Then begins " hey, you kinda cute" , a little flirtation
Well, you reply back , with a little hesitation?!?
Then begins the daily WYD , HYD exaggeration.
The talks become fun with matched perception
Sure, he did his little stalking investigation
Then you stalk him back, with mere observation
He seems decent, maybe you could take him into consideration
The chat goes on for awhile, then you get a date invitation
First you make him work for you, even though you've got rush of excitation
Finally you agree to meet him, he already made the reservation
The day of the date came, called your friends for a little motivation
Then you met him, he was just like the one in your imagination
Talked a little, laughed a little, held hands too. He took the initiation...
Returned back with a glad face, was thinking of him, then your phone buzzed with a notification
" I had a great time with you. We should meet again!" , the ditto exclamation.
Started talking everyday, met regularly, was the beginning of a beautiful creation.
His lips were soft, he smelled so good, oh what a sensation!
Vibes matched , energies matched , what a transformation!
This could be her " happily ever after" Congratulations!

Frequent & repeated lines of questioning,
not limited to frequent and repeated running,

O,
your honor,
how wyd one do in the dog days should so futile an expense be paid.

Often,

though not often enough
(and
entirely too often,)

it seems
to be
repeated

to be
repeated the sayings of the elderly,

but I say,
among others,

RUN!

collapse into the whole of everything else.

Run not in the ablative sense,
but inwardly.

The Dog Days are days in the truest meaning,
Don't Hold Me To That!!!

for this will pass,
as will those and that.

That rustling will never cease
and should it,
I fear the worst.

From this cries a home

A HOME!

for want of all.

Take this, Take me, whole, unbroken, beyond dog days and frequent and repeated sayings & questions. Take me home.

my neighbour is having a solitary moment
with a wee bonfire in the backyard...
don't ask me... i watched his father trim the grass
a few hours ago...
maybe he's burning that...
or... whatever the reason... it's in the corner
of my eye... and the flame is big...
and small enough... that.. if warranted...
would make a great... theatre of soliloquy...
i'm yet to see a shadow enlarged
and gesticulating that it's talking...
with a raised arm... the other arm playing
the gratified ballerina when the applause comes...
hand entombing the heart...
      i'm yet to see a skull hamlet & co.
             "moment"...
                       so that's my neighbour...
i'm perched on a windowsill sitting on a folded
leg...
           and trying to crackle my throat
like a perched crow...
                the jay bird is of the same family...
        it's a crackle... i'm pretty sure the bird becomes
its new: "revised" distinct when bound to flight...
it's very hard to find...
boredom and existential exhaustion as...
synonyms... however back you look down the
entymological route...
   i couldn't have scribble: if only...
     i couldn't have scribbled this out of...
borne from a compliment to make "boredom":
a necessity...

          perhaps i am... existentially exhausted...
wouldn't you be?
if i were drinking some kalimotxo...
               or 20 beers... there would be an incremental
effect being felt...
which is what makes drinking a fun:
a social... something to borrow from:
"celebration": disinhibition?
                           only because of this one series
drama: sharp object... which made...
led zeppelin somehow "cool" again...
   in the evening... which didn't make it to...
the: the best of - led zeppelin double **** album...
either...
           so my neighbour is having a bonfire...
and there's nothing eerie about the silence...
esp. when there's a humming...
a fire is talking... but it's not the sort of fire
most associated with pine needles...
pine cones... and ancient oak...
           so he's doing that... i'm smiling... perched...
and drinking ms. know-it-all *****...
and... that's the problem with *****:
you have to wait for it... then again:
merely waiting is not a desirable affair...
and preoccupying myself with: "something else"
for a span of 20 minutes...
       waiting for a k.o. instead getting to play
the fiddle of grand itch-maestro with...
a if it isn't a cat nicknamed by schrodinger...
then all bets are on Pavlov...
                   but it's such a tiresome debacle...
had i made a video and had it... (x, y, x) of traction...
yadda-yadda...
          all the drama: soap-opera i could have
enjoyed... an imaginary street...
with imaginary squabbles...
        but none of the very translate-worthy
orientations of minor frictions...
         the bonfire is dying off...
the fire hasn't been fed dry pine needles...
or pine cones... or merchant oak retelling the story
of marco polo and... to the fire with me:
none of this... mahagonny sheen:
i fancy... a rough stone turned into a marble-esque
sheen?
                         it might just serve
a wooden hammer... to tell the difference between...
well... my initial presumption...
should lady justice be coupled with a gorgon?
lady justice and medussa?
  iustitia (who holds a sword and scales)
& prudentia (who holds a mirror and a snake)...

perhaps if Iustitia is blind-folded...
prudence can have her mouth stitched up?

but i'm still waiting for the ***** to kick in...
and so much for "fun" trying to find oneself:
with all the readily available knowledge and...
not... not: plagiarizing...
     or "jumping ship"...

   there truly isn't some sort of worthy compenation...
the served platter: the swedish table of...
all the foods presented... and you come
and stab at the nibbles... in a congregation of
those: given the advent of eating where:
no heart or its content is of a debate-worthiness...

beside the ancient roman glutton...
and... the well trained oesophagus...
          and regurgitation... and what was once
the celebrated icon: the snake...
would sooner or later have to be replaced
with a tapeworm...

    the serpent has had its day... and marble...
time... for the lesser creature... then again: perhaps not...

in "celebrating a drink of *****":
well... so much for... hunting a mammoth...
or... sitting beside a bonfire and...
telling stories or: dancing ****-naked
and dancing...

         i see no circus(es): beside the heaps and
heaps of bread: a character "assassination"
in writing...
sooner i'll catch a glimpse of a ballet choreographer
pirouette...
than know the difference between:
spinning an uncooked egg...
an egg soft-boiled and an egg: hard-boiled...

a racing track... equivalent to...
being hypnotized by... a spinning vinyl...
because... yore! that beacon of yawn rummaging
in the background of ambience...
and refrigerator drizzle of:
when falling rain became infused with...
electricity...

- alt. to "say" shish-kebab (let's be swabian...
and... "forget" the hyphen...)
like a toothless dog...
indeed... sometimes the tip of the tongue
teases the palet(t)e... hard or soft...
but sometimes the tongue-tip teases the top
frontal incissors: teeth...

where is the concept of the: rhapsodic...
the rattle-R... the quick... imitation
juggling of the tongue against the palete...
where the breath that involves
the uvula to swing like:
"for whom the bell tolls"?

                   do you see anyone taming
a ******* coch draig... anywhere?
this? this being "this"... "vicinity" of da-sein?
there-being: there's (there is)...
          on the moon... the alpaca trail...
in el dorado... in how the zulu tribe announced
a pristine: sod it...
          if only bulls were used instead
of horses: all that grit and armour...
notably of the cataphract...
                       if only bulls were used...
but: who's here to "rewrite" history
of that already, past... and inevitable?

the terrible has... already happened...
               í hiechyd ac tragwyddoldeb!
                          to health and eternity!
chiral: no...
     cheaper: no...
              i will find the "hark"...
   chosen... no no no...
                    similar (soft) to kid...
hybrid esque...
                 that "h" is not a surd...
verbatin 'e hie'....

                Olav! Dmitri!
Igor! meine hoonds!
                  ч - cheap... ah... roaming
in and around Midlothian...
                    loch ness! no prefix to suit up
a tux into... comes as a "surprise"
with the suffix: a loch...
                       х: hardly... k, s or c... or z...
xenophone: yuppy... aye aye...

              trag-wyd-dol-deb!
  zee velsh: sometimes the added same,
consonant... nurse! scalpel...
makes way for perfecting the syllable
incision... like so... trag-wyd-dol-deb!

   the lights have been dimmed on the tablet...
the battery life's longevity: expoinential explosion...
it takes so much little electric conversion
to feed the sap of sound...
that it takes to create blinking
and not blinking: murmur:
picadilly circus phantasmagoria of u.v. -

you can be crowned king deaf...
fall asleep with the radio... when the lights
are dimmed...
       no sooner me: no sooner you...
but... i'd much prefer the sound
of a fox at night...
than teeth gnashing... frothing: idly hungry...

all and no science: "or"...
all and no politics... "or" all of politics and all
of science... and most probably:
when the priest would wear a gown...
and the vatican remained neutral...
      
       etc. etc.              beside the vote:
or: woe... or woo...
        and such is the suffix association
with:      -man...
                    that there's some sexually
pervasive: attachment of either:
wooed by woe...
or... or...           to be woed by a woo...
  the beta gang would be singing:
bigmouth strikes again in a placebo
rendition...
                 because when you want to pirate
the original: it better sound just
a little bit more than then most...
    effeminate male available...
a morrisey will do jack ****...
you have to go full-tilt hindu and back
into transgender with
                                  a brian molko...

or at least that's how i concern myself
when managing to sit through
a production of tchaikovsky's ballet...
   beside the feet: what am i looking at?
spandex... the bulge?
     like it might be some covert name
for a battle, crisp on a piece of paper:
before the puff of a battle of crisps goes: pop!
in between the fudge of marrow
and the shrapnel of bone...
              here... i find my throne...
in a memory that's at best:
an amnesia...

             and somehow lodged in:
the... would-be... renting bums of dreams...
the squaters... the dream circuit...
when... in 1973... england drew 1 - 1
with poland...
                when being... just 7 years old
from 1966... an epitome for a very befitting
ending...
a closure... like any other...
             grandp'ah once said... once said...
and great-grandp'ah once said... once said...
sure as **** the logbow men of the 100 year war
weren't english... last time i heard
that churchill "mishandled" his V...
the original V voz viz zee velsh...
             index and ******* at
the fwench knights... since... if caught...
they'd cut 'em off!

                 V-salute! salute!
                           the blitzkireg overture...
         compound! no spaces in between: no hyphens!
der blitzkriegouvertüre...
        
   "together" come "together:... the disenfranchised
speculation of... what it was like...
to borrow from the first sequence
of the 20th century...

       and pass it into... what was it like...
acid neon: blonde... the culprit of bringing
the "congregation"
   past-participle: a romania a yugoslavia...
and a poland... nerve-riddled lithuania
and whittle estonia: etc.

      that grand boag bear o' ruzzia...
             wit' its ever persistent euro-fetish...
windows! windows! we need to see!
kandinsky translated into wind!

       on this democratic canvas...
           on this democratic canvas...
einz! zwei! drei!
     raz! dwa! trzy!
                   hey presto:
               on this demokratischleinwand!
meine stimme...
   meine: boo!
              meine: ghulrückzug!
               ich: bin zu sein gehört... ja?!
  
          this grand idea of a(n) european family:
get together...
   under the banner of: der VierteReich...
                the penned scribbles of
could always replace the boom-boom-'ombs...
and the brit-thai... would sit it out:
gob-smacked into shackles
and halos and angelic wings found
in the replica bargain of dry twigs...

the english sovereignty found among...
romanian root and fruit pickers...
              and if i too weren't lazy enough...
i'd have managed to find an atom-bomb...
glued my shadow to a wall...
and started a macaques' dance of freedom
from the magpie's cackle...
#metoo!

                   the cure and depeche mode made
it under the iron curtain...
the smiths? sorry... but i'm twice as likely
to appreciate them...

     the bass rummaging from fleetwood mac's
the chain...
and the bass rummaging from
pulp's wickerman...
            
                              canys y Çymraeg!
r. s. thomas...
                 that... battle of the season...
who is to know... beside auld lang syne:
whether the scots 'ave some gaelic in 'em...
except for the orthography: the diacritical & dialect
of somewhere akin to Glasgow...

  - that "unnecessary" war within the confines
of: the proud and selected: "empirical" and by invitation:
the trope... the welsh are...
are a silenced minority... and all that would
require "us" to confine "us" to "do"...
would be...
to stop thinking of england...
as a nation...
and... australia... or h'america...
as... a diaspora...

              clearly: "they" want to be at best:
and at worst: the distinct: genesis:
valkyrie first raiders...
in that non-essential war:
if the 1st world war wasn't...
seigl pandering lizzy...
sweden wuz neutralz...

                      woz she'iz notz?
            a pwetty pwetty: cobweb riddled face
like that of chris cornell...
               glue eyed but a background all
lacking in dimension for the sort
of immediacy of a curtain! cobain...
     yes: this is me... ******* on and dancing
on a grave:
last time i chequered my patience...
i found... the al fresco museum in a graveyard...
and the 3rd party artist working
on the marble... by gesture of wind and rain
and sun...

             how: exhausted by...
you cannot write an opera in italian...
to later translate it into german...
nor... clarity! sha! shtil!
                you can't... translate syllables:
like so... from... a japanese haiku...
into a... at best... a hiatus! a european sorting
factory of minor minded details...
of: adventure when licking a seal
on an envelope or...
a footnote that becomes a peacock
and a post-stamp when... detailing the affairs
of a piece of paper being governed by:
grieving having paired with it...
the metsphor / metaphysical aid of wings...

flake me: sire...
     boxing champ burroughs and all those
lost narratives that will never make it:
market a slow attention-span;
that's already available...

                          the muse my muse...
past the bob dylan and dylan thomas...
the priest and a cardiff...
        if only cardiff could boast akin
to how edinburgh can boast about
the old town and the royal mile...
and arthur's seat... and the craggs...

and... what women want...
mereditch brooks would never become
the next: the next to what next
of a... alanis morissette...
              never becoming... or being...
but all of that: for a continued cultural presence
of being in the recital rubric?
thank god for that...

quiet frankly? the la's": there she goes...
a little bit... a "little bit" irrelevant...
when you listen to the whole album...

the trouble with falling in love...
      is the trouble of: falling out of "love"
with one's mother...
                pursuit of the details
of a foetus... and all those details
of an unread book that staged its "fright"
on a bookshelf for circa close to a century...

             welcome party! or not so welcome!
i'd love to hear more about
welsh nationalism... since: on topic...
the scots have forgotten gaelic...
because of glasgow and being: oh so all
so-over pristine & perfect...
at least the welsh! oh god...
the welsh! on these isles!

hyphen! enter!
cymeradwyaeth

               cym-era-dwy-aeth
                      cym-erad-wyaeth

applause!­ and i'm trying: so trying...
to live for a liszt and lady gaga
as a summary of the jealous eyes
thst gave birth to bitter-tears...
yeah... fame...
and the cosmopolitan web of c.c.t.v.
"fame"...
the one already arrived at...
and the one pampered... with glitches
                               of editorial staff...

gu an cuimreach!
   - the escapade of keeping strict rigour / rubric
of being fed by adverts...
to have a buying impetus...
but not... the selling / haggling impetus...
from the cheap-*** moors and
the myriad of marrakesh:
   the berber: a latin for: hard-time:
quitting-time blues of...
            there are people still involved with
the a, z, via x q and... no readily available:
ph and th...
         because they were never...
the sort of brits... about to celebrate...
being conquered by ancient rome...
and ancient rome bulimia...
somewhere "circa": the baltic sea...

               - there's a "need" to be "coincidental":
pristine the developed mandibles
and the surname akin to singh...
        or... khan...
                   double that... for whatever reason...
and call it: Wales...
and then... the english-speaking conundrum:
"conundrum"...
and at best... nostalgia for 1990s
h'americana cultural export of:
fwends...

                    then: at best...
Wales is... Silesia... but at worst...
                    Ruthenia... and / or... Galicia...
that now Masovia is...
and how the Prussians were once
the fabled lot of the germanic left-over pieces
of a people: "******" by the standard
of teutons... or... what part of the glorification
of ancient rome...
oh, right... the parts not making
the germans the antagonists...
the "paraphrase" of the unexplored...

                    that only the english...
were to be so proud of...
a much later "digest" of... to have a "comfort"
within the confines...
last time i checked... there was pride in being
graffiti riddled as the afghanistan of
the ancient period...

             the unique history of island-dwelling
folk...
that they are... and i... can write
in their lingo: as... being devoid...
of... root...
              what is the great wall of china...
when what's already available...
given the la manche...
                                                       ­                 is...      
is not...
                 such a most pristine choice
of gentleman... and all!
and all! and all were tio be advocates!
and vote bound to stress!
king and country and the pickwick society
of: loitering gimps for worth of letters!

half a face divulging shadow...
half of which encompasses a play:
a ghost riddled... humanoid loiter
of exaspersation... and none... which,
would be most available...
to loiter... for the apple of Judas and
tht clinging... #30 pieces of silver...

thus wed: las vegas english...
      loitering actors' spew:
awound an Ilfowd 'n' Bawking 'n'
Dagenham... yo popsickle
'ipe and joy-c-c / jewc...
or whatsemfwench callz: sauz...
via dat: zu-not-my-*******-zoo.. ju...
plonkers & sons. (available)
jue: not juice 'ough...
******* kite-fliers!

            talks a cokckey slang like
a cherry... and that's...
the last left-over before mr. bangladesh
    before: quckie does one speakin'
"smart" did anyone any 'ood...

'oved up a 'arry 'n' the 'etter 'alf
of the... non-essential...
sounding "smart"
in cockeny: to be made export:
"loading essentials"...
is... hardly... the right sort of
***** avenue of:
escape from cwawddyff:
you... poke you poke my eyez
out... you... better start sounding
cockney shmartz...
eh: ja: herr?!

       **** it... whatever...
elt'z and etc. this bogus party back to...
and so call itz...
a limboz partez!

The many ways he is legal.,Legit and lit..
With 3 A.M to finish it!
He ever so slightly gives..
Her a passions mind hickey.
F.ck..up.. savory
Like shivering kisses mind hiccups.
unspoken...................................attention given.
Make's her shiver he's a mental ******* giver..
Make's her mind moist and inquisitive.
At the sign of any confusion.
It's his  penetrative foreplay.
Its the lyrics used to seductively play.
Tools He uses..their selective differences.
Just before 3 a.m.
She floats adrift softly melting H.i.m.
Talking  everything  comprehensively through.
  Rocks her mindful  emotions.
Mind Fkin sweet potions.
non-trivial notions.
Following every word she's relaying.
All before the 3 a.m. relating.
By day he's catering appetizers of verbal compliments.
Sharing of the days events.
when they are away from one another.
They are texting each other.
By evening.........
his texting feels like gentle
                                                                ­    whispering!
Making His next text something she's craving.
Neva leaving her guessing what He is doing.
Neva askin her wyd?
                                             Mental interactions are tender touchings.
                              Mind Fkin..   A tender kind of existing.
                                                       ­    As they both be falling.
By the time its 3 a.m.
Oceans colliding.. erupting.. exploding. mental explosion.
3 a.m. dammn she's already had many ******* heightened chills.
Body follows every moment. No hesitations so receptive.
They are such Intellectual souls..
The body is prepped it always follows.
3 a.m Anything Goes.
By 7 a.m exhaustion so good sets in.
Physical resting  so sweet.. yet mentally he's ready with a grin.
Just to start a new day all over with her again.
by selinasharday 4-2018...H.I.M (he is mine)

me: hey
you: hey
me: wyd?
you: nothing. hbu?
me: same.

seen 23:49

I don't know what to do
I am stuck in this gap
its hard to move forward
or backwards

im trying to choose between
him and him

him one
pros
nice, funny, calls me cute, noticed me
cons
distant, innocent, awkward
him two
pros
cute, nice, funny, and some notices me
cons
seems ***** all the time, clingy, its always wyd

they both notice me and i don't know why,
i'm not cute
i'm not funny
i don't attract any similes
i attract stares

They come
They leave
They seek reprieve
We need a sound and a light
To keep us conscious
Of whatever
I am conscious of something
There is a barrier

Young girl in black jeans
Glasses
Apron
And a fry cook
Battering Nova Scotia
Halibut on live television
I send a message to Adonai
Wyd?
He asks me if I will agree
To his new terms of service
Which makes me uneasy
He tells me Carl Jung
Wears his glasses in the void
He looks prophetic and exalted
With some black folks
Sitting at a corner table
While being interviewed
That’s amazing
She says
So cool
She says
That’s amazing

And if our eyes meet
For too long
We might know some
Secret truth
Which we make
No effort
To conceal
Are we already
In perfection?

Wake up
Drink coffee
Let the dog into the yard
Looking at my phone for hours on end
Hoping that someone wants to talk to me
Wants to be with me
But only one person does
Every day
“Wyd?” “Want to hang out?” “**** my life”
**** your life? **** my life.
Your life is just beginning
Mine has yet to start
Shackled by a lack of money
A lack of resources
Living miles away from friends...
Every day I want someone to say to me
“Let’s spend time helping you.”
“Let’s spend time where you don’t have to pay $5 to listen to me complain about how I want to have ***”
I don’t care if you’re *****
Unless you want me to do something about it
Stop telling me every day
I want someone to help me
I want someone to talk with me
Not at me
Every day
I wish I had someone


But I’m to scared to look

The Babe
The Beauty
The Beast
Which one are you?
Which one are me?

The Babe
Ignoring texts after texts of subpar conversation prefixed
With dry "hey" 's or "how are you?"
And occasionally the simple "Wyd? [insert emoji]"
Which seems to relay a level of mediocrity in the ability to sustain an exchange of thoughts. Consistently anyways. But you know what they say.
"I just want to be your friend" Come on. For pretend obviously. Because if it was for real, it would be quite easy to see I'm well aware of where the evidence of this centered on self motif is horribly discarded in texts. Selfishness masked as mendacious selflessness. The ignorance. The Babe.

The Beauty.
The Beast.

Which one are you?
Which one are me?

The Beauty.
Girl next door. Classy cutie. Undermined time after time for her subtle nature. Settling for the flesh. Dressed in pure excellence. You know, beautiful skin. Lips. ****. Thighs. Shoulder shrug to show content. Or complacency rather. With the fact that knowing names doesn't matter. Or even knowing simple dislikes in spite often physical affection. But that's the beauty of keeping it superficial. it's not really a soulful connection. Just a collision of two vessels. The Beauty.

The Beast.

Which one are you?
Which one are me?

The Beast. Not wasting time to show you I'm yours. See, you being mine isn't any concern of mine because well, when you know your worth you don't wait to be told you're worthy. You go for what's yours without mercy. And I'm not just saying this as if
You don't have a choice
But you know a go getter gon get it.
and you are somebody I'm trying to get it with. Because see, I'm not just trying to grow, I'm trying to flourish. Nor am I trying to be tamed. Just let me be the Beast, that sees the Beauty in you, Babe.

6 months is a long time.
A long time to be "just friends" with a hint of something else.
I love the time well spent.
I hate when I overthink.
When I go over every little thing you once said, pick apart the true and false.
try to tell if you meant those sweet little nothings.
Prove to me that you did.
Prove you didn't lie.
Please.
Please
please-
pleas-
I plead.
I plead with you to end this retched game.
I plead you to tell me. tell me how you really feel.
I am begging.
My knees start to bleed.
Bruised with my perilous plead,
I am sick. I am sick of playing pretend.
I am sick of saying that "everything is fine"
I play jump rope in between the line.
The line between fine and lie.
My feelings are undefined.
every changing. forever unrefined.
please.
6 months is a long time to lie.
a long time to repeat the same measly words
"what's on your mind"
"wyd?"
"how are you feeling?"
over and over.
I need truth.
actual answers.
I am begging.
the harsh ground digs into my palms as I lean over my thighs.
head to the floor as my tears soak the space underneath them.