If women don't hate to love you, and men don't love to hate you…you're not loving hard enough.
Our hearts don't break from rejection or even abandonment, they dissipate in oblivion from mediocrity, leaving the rest of us to place you on the life support of affirmations and empty promises to keep you alive. Fucking push already!
Look at a woman deep in her eyes and tell her you want to ravage her. Tell a man you love his virility while touching his chest. Breath into the child that needs identity. Serve the lost and wounded boss, colleague or the lonely coffee shop attendant that never gets called by the name clearly worn on her lapel.
Surrender the need for the safety of your preloaded questions to the man on the dating app and trade in your beliefs for the thrill of curiosity. See, just see what he might do, how he’ll embellish your stateliness if you’ll give him the chance.
Watch the woman unfold in a state of glorification, like being inside the essence of the freshly bloomed.
Find deep inside yourself the power of original content and be brave enough to call it art. Search for the answer to a long held problem that mystifies the accountants and hemorrhages money from the balance sheets year, after year.
Let your steps be solid upon the ground, bearing the footprint of an unmistakable template for our youth to follow and tell long tales of your adventures, your unapologetic romances and the ways you unabashedly convicted church and state to BE, so much more.
Solid in our convictions we walk towards either the most heavenly of kingdoms or to the dark tombs of our demise and to not chose it to make the saddest choice of all. It is this mere act, in the age of reason available to us by the tapping the universal intelligence, that we do not crumble and have the chance to be more than just a grain of sand on the long beach of time.
Leave your legacy by starting within. GIVE yourself to me. Resist the urge to bliss bomb me with yet another “happy note” on social media for certainly that currency carries no power in the commerce of trade. Like cotton candy, delightful to my tongue you are forever gone, leaving me only with the empty calories to burn off through the expenditure of more self discipline.
Bridal the unicorn you’re riding. Approach the mic with reverence for your words matter as they settle into my spirit, quenching my dryness. Your hugs heal. Your sexuality restores. Your smile invigorates. Your breath soothes.
Ravage Me. Inspire Me. Take Me. Indulge Me. Don’t be shy…Explore Me.
Or…please go the fuck away because, I want more than you can give.
~Robin
Published On Minds Journal
