Dear David

I like you...fuck. 

Fuck is probably all you have in mind when it comes to me 

But these feelings keep growing and my heart is breaking, why can’t you see

I like you. 

Sometimes I sit with no sound and thoughts of our last encounter roam through my mind 

Reading your posts about wanting something real but why is it so hard to find 

When i am right here

And I like you. 

Am I not good enough? Am I not pretty enough? 

I spend all my days studying the art of self love 

and suddenly fail when you make me feel as though I am not worthy enough 

But I get it 

It’s just sex 

Nothing else. 



This poem is about: 



Dear David ,come sit with me close ,hear my heart beat,

but I will not come and kneel at your feet

My Pride cometh  more than my ,lie on the bed

Make your words mean much more  ,when all else is said

  (you must be strong,,,)



Over two years now  how has it all gone,,,

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