Not just because I’m sexy, but it’s because it’s everyday. The struggle with self. Luckily he keeps knocking at my heart a relentless knock with resounding vibrations. The horns of His love blowing outside my door, keeping me hopeful for a good ride. It’s hard being me. Knowing that he’s right outside but waiting inside, alone.  The struggle is opening the door. The door of my heart.

Love sick, I refuse to admit. Save me from the comma of disbelief. Open the door of my heart. Trembling walls from you knock won’t lessen the shock of being locked inside. Love sick, I need a love that sticks.

I would run but I can’t run from myself, what’s in me will prevail. It’s hard being me.