She asked me why my poems sounds like a broken hearted song and all along she thought it was all good.
It was about her.
My past hurts me like the skeletons in her closest. Yes, I’m slightly bothered although I’m as happy has happy should. How could I not, life is beautiful.
She stated that she loves to be submissive when all I wanted her to do was just listen.
Poetry songs of my soul; open hearted, I just flow; running from the things lyrically with explanations of my life; verbally, I’m a free flowing sprit.
Sorry Love, there’s a lot of fight in me and left isn’t the direction I’m going. I’m holding on to my tile. It’s vital, my ultimate survival. Sometimes my heart gets heavy, hard for me to carry. Even though my pen explains the passion emotionally I’m free. What ever it was; whatever my thoughts were when it happened, I knew it happened. She felt it without the understanding and concern of my feelings. My words didn’t touch her though, I felt that she’s different just like the sociologically thoughts of my mind. She shouldn’t question my emotional state, my poetry. What I wanted from her, no changes from her heart. She felt my poetry and I felt her emotionless connection.