Is pulling out a chair that hard?
Is the held door that strong?
Is your heart truly that marred?
Is what I offer really that wrong?

How many chairs will you sit in beside me?
How many doors will we walk through together?
How long will you burn the heart that lies inside me?
Is what I give good enough for any weather?

Does my sexuality impede my kind hearted nature
In a brawl between me and your Coach bag on who can be faker
If poetic volumes do not constantly seep
From the disdained crevice above my jaw
Would you still love me as a poet?

Would my simple words still caress your heart?
Or would your contemptuous soul move on to its next drug
In this blatant pacifism, I can barely see past my vision
Words are getting stronger every 2 weeks
And you thought sex was your last addiction

When I am evasive and pervasive and incorporate childish games
Why is it then that I grasp hold of your attention
Did I forget to mention, in this predained intervention
This well of passion is all dried up and sunk into dissention

My soul on expostion, with your body on expose
And with the whole world watching
There is only one thing you can't have
I can not give you respect
Until you show it to yourself


Flashy words have made the world forget what we were missing