To the beautiful men with broken mirrors

And now...
He understands.

Me.
Every half finished poem I've ever started about him.
And stopped.
Because I couldn't bear another vague response to genuine agape. I could love him better than the rest of the world would ever. See his imperfections in rearview reflections of his past. Accept the man they made as my own.

He understands now because he's felt it firsthand. Given his beating heart raw and ripped from his chest to someone who could never understand. Someone who chose ignorance over bliss. Now we're in the same banana boat, alone with no lovejackets to save us from drowning.

The past week almost every man except for my boogie bot (dom-o), my daddy and the godfather of my unborn son {joshua james} carvens have dissappointed me. Hurt me, misled me, neglected me, rejected me, and tossed me to the side all at once. Most of them probably haven't even realized as such.

So after a mood swing, a trip to barnes & nobles and the aim convo from the muse behind the first name of my son, Joshua I've forgiven them. Gotten over it because like him one day they will understand.

How long you think it will take? Lol.

Peace Earth{lings},
Bluebelle