- Non-Erotic Poetry
- The Writer
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Stories.
Sitting there, writing your version of the truth,
Doesn't make it truthful.
The reality is that a touch, one look, one word of comfort is what's needed sometimes
Reassurance of truth in reality
But you'd rather jump to conclusions
and cause pain
Say nasty things that scar
Who cares if they're true?
Who cares if they're right?
Guess you don't know me
Guess I don't know you
Thought i understood what you wanted
Thought i'd waded through the mixed signals
Can't tell what's fact or fiction
But that's no surprise as you've hidden yourself so thoroughly
You rejected reality,
How can i find comfort in that?
How can one not take that personally?
When done so harshly? And so obviously?
The rudest awakening in your sarcasm
Why should I have to explain?
If you can't tell the difference by now, what's the point?
Paint me into any caricature you will
It will never be the truth,
tainted by your taste
You'll never get it
I gave of myself and you turned it down
So hide behind your door
And i'll retreat back to mine; that's what we do best, right?
You can't be mad at me
You have no right
