I hate asking for love, but There are five love languages,
sometimes when my body is including words of affirmation,
touch-starved and longing, I quality time, physical touch,
must ask please, can some receiving gifts, and acts of
one please love me, and service, and sometimes people
obviously the language varies, love them all, and sometimes
but if I may, I would really they only love one, and I am the
please enjoy a hug, or maybe type of person who needs words
a hundred hugs, all lasting the most because they keep me
even a second, or maybe sane, and perhaps it makes me
a hundred seconds, yes I naive to believe in what I hear,
think I would enjoy that, just but when I ask for love, and
a hundred hugs, each a hundred someone tells me they love me
seconds, and if you could pet I still believe them even though
my hair and call me beautiful I had to ask, and if that is not
inside and out, and tell me a testament to the poet in me,
emotions are fickle creatures, I don’t know what would be,
as are humans, and both collapse because for me to believe
sometimes, and both need what you say, I have to project
a little more attention some days, my feelings through yours back
or maybe a lot more attention, to myself, a mere echo of what
and the dependency makes me you feel, or perhaps simply what
feel like a flower under an awning I feel, so in the end, I suppose
that must be watered, instead of it is possible that instead of
fiercely growing up open being watered, I really am a flower
for the rain to slowly envelope enveloped by rain and maybe that is
me fierce.
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