I opened up a box of letters back from 1998. After reading 2 or 3 I began to contemplate. Ain't nothing really changed but the day and the place where I stay.
Why can't they ever understand, sex is so irrelevant? Just a game in my hand, I'm playing and I'm winning...I'm just saying.
One after the other adding names to the list. Disciplined athletes, a doctor, even my sex therapist.
On to the next letter going down memory lane, I didn't just do them raw I actually loved them all the same.
All I need is the love, because I can never have enough of that. I always had another one to help me get over the other one.
As I continue reading these letters from females in different places, invitation to prom in Ohio and visits to California state.
Letters of good times, some asking my heart, others missing the pleasure and disliking the time apart.
As I close the box of letters I realize the price of messing with all these women. That's just me and my bad decisions.
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Author:
Willy Beeman (
Offline) - Published: February 14th, 2017 12:35
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 44
- Users favorite of this poem: Silent Nights, riahbear.
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Comments3
very clever bit bit of writing. well done.
Nice read. If indeed this reflects your history, sounds like you are working on changing your life. Don't be too hard on your self. Maybe you were doing the best you could with the knowledge you had at the time. Each was a learning experience. Hugs.
Nice read. If indeed this reflects your history, sounds like you are working on changing your life. Don't be too hard on your self. Maybe you were doing the best you could with the knowledge you had at the time. Each was a learning experience. Hugs.
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