i wanna choose you, but i’m stronger than you, and i always have been. i’ve been told my most fulfilling relationships will come later in life, but i want them now.

i want to meet someone with wings as big as mine, full of heartache, and skyscrapers, and past lovers.

but the tide keeps washing up empty, and I’m left writing poems on the harlem river.

i grew up so fast, being on your own since eighteen makes you incompatible with most people. they don’t have your strength or tenacity; they can’t match your stories, your heartache, or your wit. chances are, they won’t even try. it’s like you’ve read a million books, and they’ve read none. (which is probably also the case.) your ability to survive has made you lonely.

but look at all the gifts you can offer to the world, they’ll say, well who has anything to offer you?