03 mayo 2011

Today my pores dripped with a desire for something that I'm not quite sure what it is
I have a hard time dealing with the fact that you dont text me as much as i text you.
Is this an acceptable state of mind for a 20-something, about-to-graduate-college poet?
You'd think I'd be more in control of my emotions,
or at the very least able to identify them.

I don't know if I should play hard to get;
or maybe just try texting to see what's up.
I could whore myself out to you,
I guess that would make myself available in another sense,
but is that approval the same as happiness?
What type of happiness would that be?
Fleeting? real? triangular or lopsided?
Lust for a feeling I've never known,
one that's only faintly visited me in moments of ecstasy only to always be taken away from me seconds later.

I guess these verses are an attempt to grab at whatever I'm seeking.
Maybe it's as simple as the need to be near to you,
feel like you're not so distant for once.
So then would masturbating to your picture be a better attempt?
Or are these all just foolish suggestions because this whole possibility is too unreal.
Am i too busy seeking out the sex that'll never come
to realize I should just wipe my face, throw in the towel and let it go.

But my pores, desire, dripping..
I used a lot of suggestive words there,
some really provocative images to get your attention.
This can't fail me. Words never could.
Yet somehow, at the end of writing a poem,
I'm never quite as satisfied as the moment when I cum.

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