This isn't about you or him or him or you, this is about me.
Who I am and who I have always been,
My favorite sound is the sound of weeping violins,
My favorite country is Italy, I am a romantic. A lover of love.
And it isn't that I don't appreciate
All of the kind ways that you have loved and cared for me.
And it isn't that I wasn't raised like other little girls
To look for a man who would do just that.
But I think...that I can learn to do just that for my self.
I think that I can hold my head when I am crying
and I think that I can tell myself that I am beautiful
And I am sorry,
That I am not this girl who is looking for
A soft, safe bit of ground to root herself into
Because I know that he and him and him and he...
I know that men have tried to love me
In all of the good ways that little boys are raised to love.
With kind hands to hold me, and kind ears to hear me
With a home and the hope of future
But I need so much more then security.
I am a girl who wants to consume
And wants to be consumed with passion
I would rather travel the world alone, surrounded by beauty
Holding hard to the fiery faith in my heart
That I will find a burning, aching in my core,
Laughing, soothing, floating,
Trembling with desire,
Dance with me an a rooftop
Envelop me in poetry
Would die for me
Kind of love
Then to settle for ...loves me enough
That neither of us will have to be alone
Then to settle for...companionship
I would rather never find it but believe that it exist
Then settle for less then my hearts desire
...Because this, is who I am
An honest, touch you in your core and dare you to love me
kind of romantic
And when I stop searching
And settle for, couch cuddling
And pretty good sex on Wednesdays
Then I wither
Into an empty, casing of a woman
No
I would rather love myself deeply
And Be true to my dramatic, fanatic
and frowned upon (by skeptics with babies and mortgages to hold on to)
Worship, of love
And forever be moved with
And burning up with
Wanting
Then to settle down
and allow myself
To wither away