Stepford

Sorry that I refuse to be a good man,
The one that bends to a will without breaking.
The one that shouts your praises from mountain tops
While saving kittens
And
Organizing decadent bouquets of flowers made by
Boxes of truffles out of diamond rings.

I apologize for being different.
It’s not my fault that I’d rather climb skyscrapers and tag their rooftops with sonnets in colors so vivid that overhead pilots could see and recite them to their own loved ones once they land,

Or that memories made during nights in the snow with a flat tire waiting for the tow truck surrounded by steamy windows are more valuable to me than 79 elements crammed into a loop around a shiny rock that will make your fake friends jealous.

I’m sorry that I’d rather slip into the mouth of love and dissolve slowly like a sacred piece of chocolate than be chewed and spit out by time and lust so they can fight over custody of my broken heart.

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