Work over play.
Work over romance.
That’s my life, it’s my only chance.
I guess I am a harlot in the game of love.
No sex needed, just my wicked tongue is enough.
All it takes is one or two dates,
And they keep coming like it’s a cattle call.
Someday I’ll get it all right.
Until then, my heart remains uptight.
I fear of being to mummified with my PTSD,
I can’t even say, “I love you”
to the ones that are close to me.
I guess I successfully raised my heart from my sleeve.
It’ll take more than a week to let it proceed.
I guess it’s just meant to be, so let me be.
It is what it is I guess,
But I’d rather speak the truth than sugar coat the shit.
I got to follow my heart, the chemistry.
I’d rather be a best friend, not a queen.
Strong minded as I reveal a flaw,
I’d rather work for my own grind,
And not just be handed over gift and trips.
It’s my dreams and my opportunities I need to find,
Even if it’s on my own.
I need a companionship, not a money bind.
I’m taking the high road,
Even though people like to take my name into dirt.
Characters reveal themselves,
And you’re revealing you’re just another toad.
I know what I want,
If this poem is too high of a standard,
So be it, find someone else to pander.