I’m Not Listening

So do not ask me to seek comfort in something that has deserted thee. Dry like a desert with no dam, choking, angry, no cough drop strong enough to cure your disease of being envious of my ease of my peace of my truth telling even when it burns to the bone.

Twisted spine, do not tell me to weep to a God that taught daughters to be enslaved and sons, masters.

I am the answer to a question without a point, of the attacker and the attacked, the victim and the victor, to transform within, when this don’t feel like a win. They want me thin, but not too thin, hip, but faithful enough to bite my lip, leak and bleed on and in me. Not innocently you thought you were very hard to read but you are an easily digestible haiku. Basic, simple, and still pure. I will always adore you from head to shoe, from crown to root when blue and confused. I am a sick magician with words for tricks. You are whole, even without me telling you your destiny. Go, be free. Puzzle pieces were created to fit, together despite how different. Can you handle me fucking you outside of what you deem divine. I am fine cursing here. I am fine to disappear, and come back when I feel like it. Come back to back whenever I feel like it. I deserve whatever I desire. That does not make me selfish, but self-full. And a lot of fun.

Here: Have some.



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