Born and raised in Boston, Massachusetts. I started writing poems as an outlet, when I was 11 years old and just continued on. I think I have evolved to spoken word. Soon hoping to have several short books of life.
I must be ugly, unattractive so bad that you can't even caress my soft skin with your tender lips. How can you say I'm desirable, when you can't find a way to grab me close with those muscled arms. The simple things matter from a kiss, to a smack on the a$$, to a hug, to receiving gifts, to making sweet love. It all surfaces the air just as memories of when them days were great. Those were the times to reflect on how good it feels to have compassion to feel passion. It's insane to feel insecure but feel unattractive but feel secure and not pretty enough. In that order! Can you relate?