Is there comfort in discomfort?
Is there passion in wretched lust?
Having known many lovers
Without having known love
All the aspects are there
All that television made young lovers out to be
They said love was complicated,
But that it was beautiful and natural
Yet nothing could incur more distain
The touch of a man is pleasure
Deep inside lies only distaste
Again and again will bends,
Only to discover again and again that love is vile
The touch of a woman is empty, hollow
In those bodies curved, it can be seen what is loved and what is hated
Sometimes understanding is a curse
Sometimes I am cursed
I fall in love with people every day
The veins that weave across slender forearms
The vibrant eyes of those that wonder, that ponder
Those tantalizing patches of forsaken ink
The smell of a person all his own
Raw emotions, deep sorrow, free spirits
Wisdom, knowledge, understanding, acceptance
Creativity unabashed, quirks and individuality
Yet the attraction is as false as the lust I've shared with sin
Gone within moments before I knew it happened,
Replaced by logical indifference, cold and calculating
It is for your sake I say my preference is simply none.
(5 August 2015)
YOU ARE READING
An Aged, Bitter Collection of Poetry, Prose, & Papers
PoetryThere once was a sad girl, not that long ago, in a kingdom not so far away. Perhaps a glance into her somber scribbles might help you on your quest to scribble for yourself.
