I’ve never received a flower
Or even a rose
But I’m a guy
So it’s acceptable I suppose
No kisses
Or sweets
No treats
That signifies ones feelings for me
No token of ones love
But I have gotten
Disappointment
Watered with hate
Planted in betrayal
Fertilized with lies
And maintained by fakes
Roses are Red
But my roses are dead
And crumble beneath my feet

I used to be a writer
I used to write about things that mattered
I used to write about my country
I used to write about the cry of its heart
I used to write about abuse
I used to write about those who suffer loss and pain
I used to write
I used to write about more than broken men who broke me
I used to write about life
I used to be happy
Before men came and defiled my pure heart
I used to mean something
I used to be a writer

If we were the last people on earth
Nothing would change.

I would still wake up
To your sunkissed skin
Dancing down your back
As your warmth embraces me

I would still kiss your lips
Say "good morning, my sweet prince"
And wrap these lanky arms
Around a promised tranquility

I would still examine your nakedness
A form only I can admire
Every crevasse of deep desire
Melts my heart of iron, how easily

I would still laugh with you
As we dance in strange places
My hands glued to your every move
As we are one, separated as two

I would still lose myself
In the candid way you live
A fly on the wall I hope to be
To catch every smile painted with glee

I would still wrestle with you
As I puff out my chest
To hear your giggled breath
I am not strong, but with you I am strength

I would still find myself
In the darkness of your eyes
When the world is disarranged 
My home will never change

We would still fall asleep
Just a little too late
But you'll see me in the morning
And I'll see you in my dreams

Because if we were the last people on earth
I know, nothing would ever change