through the tortured gods of which I walk profound love pierced by soul crippling loss the simplest things somehow deemed "but not for me" it seems.. real connections that last, a love that grows, and builds, these things just slip right through my hands it happens all around me someone meets someone and it progresses to permanent call it marriage or union or "sacred other" or not first date, first fuck, courtship, "come of this" boyfriend, girlfriend partner's can't be bought but found all around I hear the stories I watch them play out man and woman man and man whatever the denomination, it's a connect, heart and hand it's all i've dreamed of, simple in my complex it's all i've prayed for someone to see my heart and want it, detect that I am not the player or user, that abounds that my dream, very simple I am the one, unwavering of loyalty, devotion, known, no bounds but, my fate lives on born of the magic tied to tragic entwined to madness, mine, this engulfing sadness I am never "the one", but the "almost" reflection strikes me stung, bludgeoned, done i've been told I'd be perfect if I was only a girl by straight men, who too, don't belong in this world i've been told I was beautiful, if only I was someone else, inside by gay men, who loved only my limbs and holes, and ability to withstand mind fucks and lies i've been told once, a fallen angel that "donnie breaks all the girls hearts", non-sexually, heart-touchingly i guess, the "she", the only ones to ever accept, more of me than any man could and in defense of them, as rightly, they should run away from me and my drown in them need to love and care and be present, ripped bare amongst the few of them found that strike me as truly awake and aware but no matter what all may have offered for a moment i continue to witness, this inherent lonely and lost, it's mine, "own it" doesn't matter what i do, regardless if the love is pure, or reversed a filth-i-fied screw, nothing to prove i find it, the dream and lose it, again in various forms and fires be them literal lovers or "blush struck", drawn friends born to dream and die alone dichotomies surround me, like "homeless" living inside my own home real love and attraction kinetic, electric i "overwhelm", in my adoration and admire and watch as they slip away on to others whose tread of stability must be more hopeful and higher "are you sick of me yet?", he said once, striking me numb "that's what i always say", i replied as he stole a piece of my heart and, in awe and empathy, i died. moments and memories that embody the blooming of love "meant to be", unexpectedly except my "meant to be", means "touched so deep" it seems never will it copulate to "complete" so i walk ahead, altered and heart saddened again, haunted by dreams inside, alone, bleed their passing, and for the hunger of a heart impassioned, do i seep inside, owe them. (the only understanding of my reason for being here) for a love that i seemingly can never quite have right in front of me, touchably untouchable, skinless forever in the search, soul salve. and to rewire this mind and be wrong, for last "once" there is nothing i would be happier to report, feel me, glad bowen hart roselli 24 march 2020 ringwald love
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