Living With An Emotional Deficiency – IV.

IV. I guess if I wasn’t so broken, I would enjoy hugs. They’re sickeningly invasive, uncomfortably restrictive. A gesture which intellectuals should have eradicated years ago. Yet, it’s oddly satisfying...for half a second. But for you, I endure. A.

Living With An Emotional Deficiency – III

III. If you promise to hear me out, I’ll explain, Why emotional responses are unhurried. Why I’m numb and expressionless initially. Truth is, I’m not cold. It just takes me time to recollect all my memories of similar incidents I’ve encountered, In movies, tv shows, novels and friends. I sift through the emotions they expressed, …

Talentless.

I once created literary art, With blood drawn from my broken heart. The words flowed endlessly, How could it not? With an abundance crimson fluid gushing out uncontrollably, As the cracks in my poor love centre elongated. Because of this, I was declared a lyricist in her prime. But I have watched my creativity sublime, …

Just Afraid.

You try to be the best I’ve ever had, But that doesn’t take much effort. You don’t know that, And I’ll never mention it. Not my experience with abuse, Not the insecurities bound to oxygen, flowing through my veins. I’m afraid you’ll be inspired, Afraid you’d come up with new methods of breaking my heart, …

Perfection.

Perfection was a myth before your presence became my resting place. Like flying pigs and purple rain, Like policemen and black lives matter, Like true love and soulmates, Perfection was created to instil hope. It didn’t exist. How could it? Why should it? But perfection was what I felt. It was you on a gloomy …