This is a personal documentation through poetry.
I am learning to look inward now, give myself love when I least want to. I do not live to love others, I live to love myself. I will find and create what is enough for me, and you will learn to let it...
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For a brief moment, I was able to experience a boy's infatuation through force and money. I woke up in his mother's expensive Nashville condo, after being admittedly guilted and convinced the night before. He feigned composure after he'd rise and lead me into the kitchen, asking if I would like coffee. And I would love coffee, but not from him. He gave me a mug anyways, and it was the first time I'd ever seen someone sprinkle cinnamon on top of my coffee; he sought to impress me. And at that point as I gazed at him over my steaming mug, I knew he was going to be a shallow man. A shallow man throwing whatever he can conjure up at me, to keep me interested of course. And he was the steps of the pool before you even reach the deep end. He was the puddle on the edge of a road the kids don't even feel the need to jump in. It was nothing but a facade. He hid behind his hot cinnamon coffee, his privileged college admission, and his hateful parents' money. And I thought I could love someone like that? I thought I could love someone like that. He never aligned with me in ways I needed. So when it all came crashing down, we fell in opposite directions. He claimed to be a moral driven man, but was too conceited to step out of his own way. Wake up, boy—no one is that deserving. No one.
