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What's worse
What's worse is I find I love
the way you're insecure
not sure if that's the word
doubt yourself second guess
that anxious little one the one that says
sorrynim afarid I was rude
or. If you weren't in pleasure
it was because of me
i love the anxious one who seems to have a social
anxiety without even knowing it
life just is a mould and you find yourself to have to fit it
for your friends
for your relatives
maybe even for a girl
or the girl could be your cave your refuge your harbor
what's worse is I love that boy who is afraid to be afraid
of buddy coming over
if buddies bringing him out
of driving to visit relatives
of being away from home
each crutch you use
i used to think you were
made up only of vice sttched to vice
and maybe some aggression sewn in
but now I see it more as a crutch
what you lean on
what helps you get through your shift
what helps you when you have to socialize and don't feel ready
the way you withdraw on certain days
(And I love )
the way you introspect and have to create
the way you share your gifts with me or someone when you Are finished
The way you ask if I like someone better like it's a joke
but it's also like hearing my own mind
the way you share songs with me
the way you tell me to relax even as you are balled up anxiety
but maybe you can't see it in yourself
but whats worse is that I love this flawed
this damaged
this vulnerable
yet closed off
aspect even more than the first layer of you
Goofy forgetful anxious
and hating that you are so Godamn forgetful
that is the you that I love
that's when I fell
really fell
and it's just getting deeper each crack in the facade
like ink on water paper
like crack in the ice after one mis step
like gold liquid repair pottery damaged
and you have (made )nest in my heart
you so beauty in the moonlight,
so solemn depth of eyes
needing to be ravaged
somehow wish I could do it from my heart
from that place where you've perch
finding thoughts of you warming from my chest
and This whole unsure version who needs to lean
on a crutch can just as soon knwo you could use my shoudler
leaning your hair hanging head down laughing or sighing into my breast
that is not the beginning of
desire but the falling falling which is so much of what is worse
