... not like a natural woman,
but like a girl with complications
contradictions
his insinuations make me interesting
and interested
and without them i'm a blank canvass
with no painter
does he really make me a masterpiece
or is he an amateur?
Do i really care, that's not his allure
it's mine, it's more
this is a not a sex thing,
this is a me thing
wanting to be a muse thing
something that inspires
something he really desires
something that others will admire
i want the green envy to line the streets
we walk in my mind
I want to feel those eyes, envy eyes
Who know i'm the prize
But why can't i be my own surprise?
Why must he make me?
Feel feel feel
Why won't he feel me?
NZ. Now. Not tomorrow.
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