The Lost Can Be Found

I’m kinda tired of it.
He only tells me to do things.
I’ve got time for you for a second so, entertain me.
Make me feel… Something.
Me. Me. Me.
Never, how are you, you good?
Never is there anything I can do to make you feel something?
Never and I’m kinda tired of it.
Always, jump.
Higher.
Just for me.
Just with me.
Just like I want.
Me. Me. Me.
Now.
Because my dick is hard and my face is pretty.
Just because.
Jump.
No concern for anyone else.
Go be with someone else if you want to after you do EXACTLY
what I want.
Like your first born child might.
Or Uncle Sam.
I’m getting real tired of it…
You only matter when I need you to… is his modus operandi.
Like Death.
And I appear foolish when I acquiesce
to onlookers
who don’t know that when you buy a Mercedes…or a puppy…
It’ll always garner favor, first.
The validation is reciprocal.
I own him and he thinks he is just being treated preferentially on his accord.
But orchids like him
You
Him
You
require a lot of water when dry and when not, the caretaker in me knows
to let him/you be
the most important thing that you/him thinks
that you are.
because you are and the truth is simple…
Takers take.
So you jump.
I’m kinda tired of it but
my actions are the actions of the the greenhouse plant gardener

I still keep it humid for him regardless of how flat he thinks the Earth is.

I know how to treat fancy cigars.

 

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