insatiable insecurity

I don’t need to wear my sexuality on my sleeve; I’m not a tease or a sleaze, unless you’re in bed with me and even then I prefer to be quite selective because I happen to believe some things are meant to be sacred.

I will strip down to my soul leaving me vulnerable, naked. You will know my love is real, I won’t have to fake it. I’m everything you could ever want or need because alone I am complete.

I do not seek their nods of approval; don’t need such strokes to my ego to assure myself, the world my life is full. People like that are really quite hollow, empty inside. Because all that exists for them is what one feasts with their eyes.

And, my love, you love to stroke their ego; somehow it feeds the insecurity you bleed. Each one interchangeable with the next but just as titillating nonetheless. I’m afraid you’ve been cursed not blessed with such an availability of beauty. Because that which you crave is that which will leave you eternally hungry.