Dear Mr. Jones

I don’t wanna be your band aid

Don’t wanna be your Emergency Room

This heart’s meant to be a home

Not temporary sanctuary

I’m not your therapy, you’re sympathy in time of need

So I’m leaving this letter for any who come knocking at this door

Love, don’t live here no more

… I’m done… if you’re looking for me

You’re gonna have to run

No mapquest or google

It’s a twisted jungle we living in

No James Bond need apply

Cause slick moves can’t survive

More like Indiana Jones

Rough rugged beast mode

Type of man

Not afraid to get some dirt on his skin

My hearts hidden like the lost ark

Inside a temple, not like doom

More like temple of “only got room

For one more”

Some may ask why I chose to hide

So many open hands exist

But you don’t know the pain of holding

A hand that don’t quite fit

Or pushing legs inside jeans busting at the seams

Cause they can’t contain

That’s all well and good for those who choose to

But my heart can’t breathe inside a vacuum

I don’t wanna be your band aid

Or your “thick chick who don’t fit,

but its all good as long as I’m there”

No I’m not hiding

I’m just residing inside a space where I can be free

Til Mr. Jones finds his way home…

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