Poetry Sketch

I find weakness becoming sometimes
and so
I wear it like a glove until
It becomes like my second nature.

I feel like I could linger in your
elevator for days,
It's your energy that ignites me,
And your scent just might wrap around me
and squeeze
until rainbows and butterflies come
spilling out of me
(and all of those other things I hate
to talk about).

I want to get away from you,
But I don't want to get away from you,
And I want nothing more to be with you.
To lay with you.
It's not even about sex,
I just want to be with you.

You are my heroine.
You are my missionary.
You are my undoing.
You beautiful delusion, you
you are my destination.


So, I'm calling this a poetry sketch. That is to say there was no real aim, I was just sketching out images with words, so it remains unrefined and half complete in the original form as I wrote it. I'll probably do more of these in the future as the mood suits me.

An interesting thing came to me as I was writing this. When I was young, a friend of my mother's once asked about my paintings, because while a lot of my drawings were super heroes, and guns, and girls with semi-big tits (I like to think I was trying to be progressive), several of my paintings were softer and of flowers and pretty things like that. And the friend made a statement about the conflict of wanting to draw flowers and pretty things and what not, but feeling like I needed to draw all the other stuff too. I responded something to the effect of there was no conflict, it's just that sometimes I want to draw the cool stuff and sometimes I want to draw the pretty stuff. I guess that still holds true right? Sometimes I just want to do the pretty stuff.