Nonsense

Starving for affection makes you a signpost for opportunity seekers at any age.

As a baby it’s milk then as a toddler it’s ice cream. As a teenager it’s cum and as an adult everything gets mixed together into one big cream pie.

I do believe God is the cow, the chef and the baker but admit to having trouble finding the man inside of him.

I met George and got things all turned around. I wanted attention but got so much more. I make no sense. I hide. I stare at hands. I bury my needs. I gaze at men to see how well they disguise their primal.

He infiltrates my daily activities without invitation and I cry because I don’t know how to tell the difference between affection and love. I don’t understand how one arrives without the other or where it gets its clothes or colognes that I might recognize a counterfeit from the real thing.

No no no. Children don’t look at what people wear. I was a child. A child with no breasts. No pubic hair. Nothing about me screamed sexual toy. I was still learning how to write my abc’s. It wasn’t my fault. Maybe it wasn’t his fault either. Silent primal hunters are everywhere and prey on any and everyone.

I still hope he had a horrible death.