searching for love in all the lowly crevices
and broken hearts in the projects,
taking up projects
that I could change and fashion into the ideal man for me.
sharing pieces of me
in exchange for the promise of being whole,
and It hurts, that up to now
I still allow penis to cloud my judgement,
drowning out my problems in sweat,
grunts and screams.
But when the screams die down,
they’re still there
lurking in the parallel universe
just beyond my bedroom.
At this point in my life
I need to be honest
that I’m merely looking for daddy in men who were just like him,
In the quiet of the morning
after all the theatrics of the night before,
there would never be a future for us,
who was always attached to the wrong man.
I should’ve given up on finding love by now,
Just some silly fairy tale told to little girls
by mothers busy looking for love to.
its not real,
it doesn’t exist,
and someday maybe I will believe that too.