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Rated: 18+ · Poetry · Personal · #1445981
this is about a boy I'll never get to touch
exquisit in your pain
its hidden quietly within your eyes
dancing gently when you laugh;
its what they don't know about who you are.
Keeping it tight within your chest,
there is no one who sees it resting there
you suffer so beautiful, so alone.

Those without perception don't understand
hurt is what makes you so exquisit.
They don't see, they don't care;
they're just happy to look at you.
They fail to realize
that you; the man you crave to be
you aren't even there.

And I; I want to draw you out
like a witch-doctor calling ancient demons
I want to drag you screaming
from that place you've hidden your exquisit truth
Make you love without abandon and crave the things you've been starved.
Make the molton love you channel into sound
be the reason you breathe.

You'll break every mould the world's tried
to squeeze you so mercilessly into.
You'll be more than beautiful.
You'll be sex, desire, love, happiness...
All encompassing freedom.
Not your eyes, not your pain, but your truth.
And in that, Exquisit.
© Copyright 2008 Liza Doolittle (disenchanted at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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