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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Is it really a dangerous game, Or does it just present itself like one? What could the criteria be exactly, And who decides who wins? If only I knew we had been Playing the whole time, paying the same price. Eye for an eye, lover for a lover. Got rid of mine, so you got rid of yours. Now it has turned into a racing car, I find myself strapped in twice as hard. Dreadfully, I do not want to be inside. I do not wish to see the end, And I will not address the winner, No matter how much gold they will win. But it goes around again— It always goes around again. Yet when I finally get out onto the pavement, I miss the rush. The feeling of my hands out the window, in the air, My hands losing reason in your hair. A kiss on my cheek and a kiss on yours. A photograph on my bedside table, A photograph under your dresser. Oh, I feel so childish. I hope you can hate me again when I never grow out of this fear.
