Lough

Have you ever destroyed yourself because of love?

That kind of love that leaves you waiting at the bus stop. With the leaves n' shit. Sitting. watching people walk their dogs as they stop to shit. Shitting as you compare yourself to the shit coming out the puppy's anus because it's like, you're heart is mad tight, and you yourself become tight when you see a young couple holding onto each other tight and you try to be realistic, but anything realistic to you becomes pessimistic and sadistic because you know the kids in the bitch's wristlet aren't his kids. And as a father he's probably a misfit as you check the old man's hand for a wedding band and you continue to mind your bidness wondering who at your wedding is gonna be a witness so when you're hawled off to divorce court, your homegirl can say I told you so, kupid. You say kupidaintstupid, but you settled for cleofus jones and now you're crying on the phone because you're alone and you settled for a love you aint even want in the first damn place. What a mothafuggin disgrace. You better wipe up that salty shit up on your face and forget about love because its nothing. She's right, love is nothing unless its with the one you place on a pedestal, the one you zone out when you thinking about them when ur about to pay for your groceries at the register, wondering what he's thinking while he's telling you his thoughts and cherishing everything for you that he's ever bought. Even if it's a number 3 from mickey d's, each bite represents the intensity of the cuddling nights watching TV, making love in the closet because the bed's too wet, and saying love you baby baby with no regrets. I mean the last sip of the soda kinda love. The warm spot on the sofa kinda love. The move over lemme lay on your breast kinda love. The move over lemme lay on your chest kinda love. The there's mad people around but imma rub ur knee in public kinda love. The kinda love where you communicate through words and throw the text messaging bullshit out of the window kinda love. That no facebook kinda love. That no AOL kinda love. That real live, hug me, court me, wear my name on your shirt kinda love.

I have destroyed myself because of love?

Cuz it seems to me that the love I want is out of reach, and the love I want, I gotta teach. And the contract I made with love got breached because he tells me at least once a month that I'm on his mind and not because of the picture message I sent him of my behind. I mean I put it on the glass for my love. I twiddled my thumbs in the rain, by the bar, in my car, by my laptop waiting for his screen name to pop up so I could say hi because he forgot to. This love right here is pulling me by a string, making me think of wild shit that I would never even dream of. Picture this dude in a black tuxedo with winged tip shoes, walking down the isle to say I do. And me in my black dress in the back of the church, I stand up in defiance right after the preacher says, object or forever hold your silence. And I'll be there with a copy of his wedding license standing on the pew ripping it up in a million pieces as they cascade gently to the floor of the church. And I run to the front and I get on my knees and beg the love of my life to reconsider please. Because I know I'm the one that's best for him. The best fit. The best shit. The best wit. And the best tits. He pics me up from off my knees and looks me in my eyes and sees, the love and all her desperate plees. He closes his eyes and pushes me to the side, and takes ahold of his unfit bride. He says his vows so proud and loud and I look and there's consent from the crowd. My figure slowly starts to become static. Coming in and out like stolen cable TV. I'm fizzled out…nothing but an important memory. I was never the priority.

I'm still destroyed because of love,

Cuz like I'm a damn good friend, with a guilty conscience. No bitter apple could replace the lodgings of coagulated blood that runs through my veins like slugs and no bear in a forest could kill me like I've been killed. No clay bowl could be kilned like I've been kilned. That love.

Love?

Lough?

Love?

Lough?

Love?

Lough? What does it mean? If I can't be with him then it can't be. Love? That word is nothing to me. Love only applies when I discuss my mom or my dad, or the best friend I ever had, or my favorite drink, or my time of day, or the sarcastic way I display dismay or how I feel about CSA. I have a shirt that says I love new York. But the heart is replaced with a cardiac model, displaying the ventricles and the whole damn aorta. It's bloody and drips down the side of my sleeve, and seeps through like nectar in a sieve. Love ain't shit unless it's with the one you want to be with. But if the one you want to be with is the one you plead with then go smoke some weed shit and take ur heart off your sleeve. Cuz if I can't have his love the only love that keeps me feening…then I spell love l-o-u-g-h…because it has no meaning.