i thought i was faulty

attributed a lack of sexuality to the fact that be i was hurt by a man who said he loved me

thought i was scarred and scared of men because they bear a resemblence to that hulking sobbing mess

and i was okay with it

i envisioned twilights in a high rise overlooking bustling city life, couples in their prime

a glass of wine enjoyed in the quiet of solitude

no boy to interupt an interlude

i couldn't see myself being more than friends and though a boy once loved me and i thought i could comprehend the extent of what love really was

i was wrong

because though i loved him it was as if he were a constant a familiar friend but there was no spark

and so i left him to the dark, apologizing, trying

broken alone "done with it" after a single case of trying

ignoring the flare in my gut when i saw her smile, heard her laugh

assured myself i found them only aesthetically pleasing to my artistic mind, though i knew my mother wouldn't mind

years of church services where women were covered and meek and served their husbands ad were inferior in kind

it's adam and eve, they cried

but what has god ever really asked of me, but to be happy?

and if my happiness lies in the arms of a woman

then i leave the notion behind