Is it okay that I don’t find love

In a human being,

In the skin, or warmth

Or promises

Not in the way they see me

But see everything but me

How words 

Earnest one, pour out of their brains

And colors from their brushes

Or the photographs

Sometimes in the silence

Where there is no me
Someone said it’s masochism

But that’s okay I guess

For my love

Does not exist

In a world full of rush

And game of remembering

I am selfishly selfless

Where I found my place



2 thoughts on “Masochist

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