Of every single thing pure.
True. Honest. Just. Pure. Lovely. Of good report; of Virtue. Of Praise.
This is dicey, but I will take it in bits.
I am single and I write on love
My love is like a ray that beams.
Whether life rains or shines, it glows
My heart is like a current that sparks.
Whether love rises or falls, it’s glides.
My patience is like a meadow.
Whether our -ship moves or wrecks, it grows.
I have healed and I still write heartbreak
I wear my heart on my sleeve and work with it
I tear my hurt to shreds and play with it
I stir my head to the past and stay with it
I pair my love with pain and roll with it.
I fear my wounds will heal so I write with it
I dare my mind to a fight and I wrestle with it.
I read books and get inspired
Like still waters. Like good music
Like good books. Like new friends
Like a long walk. Like a boat ride
Like alcohol. Like narcotics.
Like sleeping pills. Like peaceful dreams
Like a quite night. Like an escape route.
I like to watch my mind fly
I have drawn myself on a canvas,
I have painted my memories in shades.
I have drawn my past in fiction,
I have clothed my mind with colors.
I have drawn my brain into a desert,
I have woven my thoughts into kites.
I am true and honest. This love and the hurt is real
Shot like a Rocket, I have landed on a cave in Space.
I have groomed the lawns of my boundaries.
I have yanked the clog of betrayal off my imagination.
I have fenced my Mars of trust. I have built a dome of caution.
I have crossed the borders of affection.
I have ignored the Stars I adore. I have found home in Art.
6.I am Just…no lashings. I tell them you are pure and lovely. Of good report.
My fingers have clung to gripping my pen,
you can’t wriggle past my words.
You can live in my Art,
but you can’t thrive in my present.
You can breathe through my writings,
but you are dead to my reality.
I think spreading scandals is babyish. Our love was a private business.
I have been through love and ghosting,
like sad songs muted.
I have been through jilt and blockade,
like Kanye’s ranting.
I have been through growth and gratitude,
like Ariana’s Pete.
Of Virtue. Of Praise.
Stories are stories.
Fiction is fiction.
My truths are true.
My lies are untold.
My pride is praised.
My elegance is esteemed.
All my lovers are folks in tales.
I have left friction for fiction,
like freedom. Like a field of daffodils.