The truth is this, I love myself. I look at myself and say wow, what a great guy. You’re broke, and lack cashflow, but you have the charm, and knowledge, wisdom and honesty of an immortal. And although, I have done acts that were immoral, cheated, lied, and made women cry. I am just so human, imperfections are ingrained in my biological make up, and mind.
But I want to do it right, I sincerely do.
But my desire for love is, overwhelming and sincerely true.
The truth is I have insecurities, only a few. I try not to project them, but write them as if I was bleeding out. My wrist tells a story, is there anyone that will read? My thoughts are diseased, and my heart becomes eased. Writing such poetry helps me as a release…