What happen to
"I will love you for who you are"? or
"I will love you as you are"?
Are those just words?
Meaningless words?
Shall I love against a closed door,
a manikin or a picture of a goddess--
just to be loved in return?
Does that make a reality--
or a mere fantasy?
Is it the matter of life and death--
for myself to have what people call--
perfection; when it is all physical
and it will be gone, anyhow?
Shall I ponder upon all of these tedious
question marks in my burdened head
just to fulfill the desires and dreams
of a clueless and unappreciative air head?
Well then, what of me?
What of the tree of my being
with roots thrust deep into this earth?
I am of what I make myself with rejoice--
shall you, love, doubt and waver challenge
my position and I as a humble human.
What else to be done?
Insecurities kill--
You are killing me.
