Poetry is my addiction
Learning to write without a muse because there's not enough antidote in the world to heal my previous afflictions
My priors, my convictions.
I find my calm in the kitchen where chicken provides no resistance.
Unlike men when you accidentally let that L word escape from your lips,
Then your waring, unlike lovers but more like bloods and crips.
They'd like to say you were falling but I'd say I tripped because love can't be genuine with all your little tricks
Like promises of forever mores.
And the thoughts of a weird but great combination like smores.
But putting forth my effort with you is something i hate to do,
Chores
And all your excitement
Bores
Is this what i have to encounter to be yours?
Overrated
Lust finally faded
And i see that we are interested in one another
But don't take interests in one anothers interest
What kind of love
Could you have for me?
If our passions are separately owned with no
Apostrophe
Leave now
Avoid catastrophe
And the consolation that your
Selfish ways
Never mastered me
