I own this stereotype.
Heavy in belly, soft tall demure,
Trying to saint the boxing sinner.
Mother loved, father manly worried,
I wander passion for unrequited state.
The socially unapt gazer, debating intent.
Waiting on the whom,
To confess rapture, for my scenes.
Then it came, love.
But time shorts bliss.
I slowly bleed its demise.
Insecurities constricted affection object.
With every needy utter.
The insecure mind, as it yammers meekly,
"do you still love me".
The dreamer price,
Is the distorted I,
with my grey speckling on my
"want to be cool " chin.
I dream less, and bitter for it.
When friend to lover, then told a mistake,
I leave hungry, Partner Full.
Copyright © Johnathon Souders