You're dancing fingers along fret boards, stopping on notes to stop my heart.

Writing me love songs from the ashes of past sadness as if its your job to learn the melody of my soul.

Is it?

You're pushing boundaries outward.

You're swelling self esteem.


What's your agenda of making me smile?

My love isn't and never will be on the zipper of your jeans.

My securities aren't and never will be beneath you.

My self worth isn't measured by what I do between bedsheets.

It is measured by chords that play our songs.

By the love that stains each kiss.

By the times that you make me believe that you believe that I am worth it.


Because when we touch,

I swear the galaxies rearrange to write our names in constellations.

But sometimes a new star is born and our names get misspelled.

They say that if you love something, you should let it go.

But that is fucking inaccurate.

Because I love you, I cant possibly let you go.

I need you, but not like this.

I hate you, because to you I will never be more than one night.

Meanwhile Im stretching my hand into eternity trying to find yours.

I have this great sense of pride.

But I lost it in the dark when I was fumbling for my clothes.

I bet if you look deep within your thighs,

You'd probably find it.



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