preferences.

im good with words. im good at arranging them for them to be a fist, a kiss, or a scream. and you hate that. youd rather have me vulnerable, confusedly spouting pathetic fountains of truth that anyone else could make worthy. of trust. touch. want. useless motifs of my most imperfect nature. you make them your crutch, your cane. to justify the passive belief that you help. to adorn some ongoing need for company. you envy the walking and breathing strength of a mess which only rides wheelchairs for fun. You envy that my lips and my hands move out of pleasure, not need. that my unsaciation comes from desiring to live more. extrasensorial dream for a more prolongued existence.