I have yet to meet a man who isn’t possessive of the women he has never met.
Unwilling to let the possibility of perfection go long enough to taste the sweetness of what is; in all of its flawed beauty.
This is not a fluke; this is an epidemic and I have had dinner with several men treading water, liking the conversation, but still texting under the table.
This can be overlooked until, not far down the road, the conversation of letting pictures go for something in the flesh is seen as an attack, an invasion of privacy.
Because we must let this happen organically.
Oh, you humans have lost your way,
And this is not out of hate.
This is out of love.
For I simply want to love.
Just one soul.
In a way that soothes the spasms from your aching back,
But I can’t love that way when I know you are still searching for something;
Because in the back of your mind you’ve bought an idea
That swindled you good.
That those pictures are real.
That perfection is your right.
That there is always one more great night.
I would fly as close to perfection as I could until my wings began to melt if you would only give me a chance,
I will become a jealous, closed-off bitch when you refuse to let me,
In my fragile
Because once I see that you will not leave that idea;
That while you’re flippantly texting me
You’re scheduling time for her;
That while I’m frantically trying to make our evening perfect, you’re checking for a new message in your inbox;
I will never look at you the same,
Nor will any girl no matter how much they train.
We can say that we are innately polyamorist,
But it is a lie from the devil’s tongue to hide the pain of not being able to find and hold on to just one;
And we all feel it burn no matter how deep we bury it inside.
We are doing it wrong.
We need to stop and look one person in the eyes.
If they fill you with joy, hold on as long as you can.
Falling in love hurts, and it’s meant to be hard.
You can’t do it with a net.
It just tangles her wings.