He asked me why
I wouldn’t sleep with him
And I said it’s already hard enough to
Get out of bed in the morning.
If honesty makes me an ice queen
Then so be it,
Would making love now just be
Making love to my own ego?
I find everyone to be such a pure reflection
What I love in myself turns me on
What I loathe in myself repulses me
And, what I desire to be,
When gleaned from another
Patches up holes of lack
With the flimsy architecture of
A rubber bandaid placed over a gunshot wound.
And still I crave this lofty ideal,
One that actually satiates none of these
I heard true love is making a comeback.