I've been hurt before, spread like a rash, but I'm fine. I still think about that clown but at least for now I can forget that face and move on ****** race like a samurai.

Don't **** with me because I can see right through you and I knew you and you knew me but at this moment it all boils down to what happened.

On that faithful day, ay. What the **** this dates back to 1955.

I don't know, I don't know.

But I do know you oppose things like abortion and gay relations.

In this day and age you gotta go.

So please kindly **** of please disappear.

Lets go back to when you weren't here.

Let's go back to the whispers in my ear.

I had you then I didn't.

Would you rat out the stoners at plinko to this day?

When I was very young, I started to develop an eating disorder.

I was a toddler. My parent's first child and I went mental when they tried to serve me vegetables.

I would discard them in the radiator and sooner than later a technician was called.

And my parent's were appalled when they realized the reason was that their child refused to eat what she was served.

This continued into early childhood.

I lived with my grandmother who I've called Grandy forever.

She made the same three dishes every week. Macaroni Pie, Rice, or Potatoes.

On the odd occasion,  I would get pizza or pasta.

Macaroni and Cheese, or something else that pleased my taste buds.

I quickly tired of this pattern and a disgust for these meals arose.

I could no longer eat them without wanting to *****.

When I was no older that four years old, my parents tried to feed me a few days or a week old alphageti. That was the first time I ever gaged on a meal.

But those moments came more often than I would like as I grew.

I filled up on chocolates and candy, slices of pepperoni so I wouldn't have to eat the **** I din't like.

This distaste of my Grandy's food turned into a fear of food itself.

I couldn't be experimental, I hated having to eat.

I wished I could just take a pill and defeat the hunger that haunted me.

For years I became anorexic. And not because I wanted too, but because for all that time food was my enemy.

When I was in daycare, I hated sweets of any kind and had never had a sip of soda. But once night when my parents were late to pick me up.

All Dee had was marshmellows and seven up.

I hated the sweet treats that would burn my teeth and the soda that would burn my tongue.

But I was young and no one cared.

I didn't allow myself to eat for several years until I ended up falling in love with a girl who cares.

But some nights when I am drunk and to lazy too cook,

I find myself in the kitchen eating an uncooked hot dog,  

and I remember where it all came from.

I still hate sweets and soda to this day.

But at least now,

I eat.

For me,

it happened twice.

Once when she asked me to tell her something,
or to tell her
anything.

So I told her I loved her,
and I wanted her,
to be mine.

And her eyes widened.
She got scared, was
unprepared.

The saddest thing she ever told me, was that she could not be with me.

Until she was.

Again, and again.

She kissed me, she held me.

Until she said don't talk to me ever again.

That was the most heart breaking moment,
of
my life.

I know her and I love her.

To the point that I dream about her and look for her.

Nothing feels right when she isn't there.

She is my everything she is my..

I can't go a day without talking to her.

We live in the same house and I could not imagine greeting anyone else in the morning.

She is the sun and the moon.

She is a sunday afternoon watching cartoons.

She is the love of my life.

She is everything and all of it she is my wife.

Being in love is like winning a game,

You feel so proud and you never feel the same.

You want to scream her name from high buildings.

She is my angel, she is my baby.

I would die.

We are so scary in love that if one of us were to
kick the can

the other one would follow.

An almost suicide pact.

If she was taken from me I don't know.

I would probably seek out our moms.

If my girl was taken from me I probably would not see the point of living,

YES. I fell in love again.

I told you it's happened twice.

But this time she loves me too and she cares about me, and I care about her.

She aint **** and my new mami is the one for me.

I would be confused
conflicted
confronted.

And I might kiss her.
Sorry.

I have a lovely wife.

But I still write about her.

She was a true dinger.

There's whiskey in the jar.

Some people like to count how many women they mount.

But for me?

There's whiskey in the jar.

I've been in love two (2) times.

Once with a ***** and then with a beauty, the one in my nest.

I love my beauty but sadly I'll never forget the *****.

Don't lie,

She who must not be named.

(Her name was Hannah)