143 Degrees

I don't love hard so when she did it was foreign.  Didn't see how it started I thought she was robbing- me turned out she was just Robin to me, wanted to rock fully with me. I cape crusaded and she sidekicked with me but like I said before I don't love hard so when she did I was gone.
Not yet in the flesh but she lost me every where else. The way she felt I couldn't see truth in the melt, all cheddar. She wasn't herself and I couldn't see her getting better. She wanted everything for me, even the things we knew I  couldn't reach. Her speech leaked 143 degrees. Her "one four threes" used to be mad sweet, now the inflection in her tweets turned from treat to trick. Thought she was trying to be slick, scoop and uproot my a from lone to cquainted. She wanted to be with me, by me, do everything for me, confide in, believe in, dine with, sleep with, lay with me, pray with me, sony play with me, all day with me was all good with she as long as she was with me.
Now I figure me to be a cognitive he, fully coherent, observant, patient with time and can justify any crime.  But none of she, how she was now could make any sense to me now.  This she, that she be, was the complete opposite of the she that was initially presented to me. She was bad and she knew it, rather curt and prudent.  Her time was precious and she let me knew it. She was heavily desired and didn't feel like choosing. So I was the pot of noodles always in hot water, on the back-burner chilling while the meat was getting burn and every moment with her I had to earn. Her game was to make me wake she wanted to break me out of my cool and see me uncouth without sophistication or smooth. Right. So we got to where we was because... I was honest about my buzz and she let me burn in the front. But we were miles from there not sure how ;) and her love got too hard for me to cogitate now. Too dense for me to intellectually break down. Way too layered for me too think out. Needed a black belt or blue axe to fully break it down.  It just don't make sense. She wanted all of me right now and later on. And she'd want my past if it wasn't already gone.  I loved her back but at my pace. She knew I wasn't going nowhere and if I did she'd be in that place. But with my love I tried to be very sincere. Never wanted to appear counterfeit or unreal. If I meant it she saw it on my sleeve. If I didn't mean it she wouldn't hear a peep or feel a beat.  And that was all I was willing to be capable of. Didn't matter she took me and my shoulder shrugs like she was hallucinating off a potion worse then drugs. She'd joke around and call it voodoo but I'm no D'Angelo, maybe just my transversalis.  But abs don't last and her love sounded like forever. It didn't make sense to me so it reverted back to infatuation to me. Maybe its the thought of what could be or some elixir-surged fantasy. Either way... little me can't be loved this hard deservingly, possibly.
So she loved hard and I was gone. First my mind, then the heart soon parted but flesh held on. She had to be the one to let me go cause her clench was so strong. I couldn't just break away. And still till this day, I think I keep all forms of love away. Square up my guard just in case they turn hard.

Don't take it personal.

Personification gives anything life.

 

If Heaven were a simile she would complete my sentences perfectly like a cloud completes the sky in imagery.

From head to toe her clothes would expose beauty same way as a window captures the day.

Like veil to a gown her crown starts me off right, effectively, efficiently and always capitalized.

Ever so delicate she takes my predicate and likens it to amazing grace.

She commas my faults like halts in stirrup…. pours the subsequent like syrup, slow, sweet with a shine.

When I’m stuck or empty, Heaven has at least a semi; the perfect compliment like Hall to Eddie.

When I’m ready, Heaven is there , she lifts me high like this exclamation here!   She calms my curiosity, curbs my query like? Yea.  So elegant and simple, bold as she begins Heaven sets my sentence like, properly to an end.

I would give you Hell only if he were a metaphor.  This dude... I swear.

I don’t fear much but I’m type shook thought up in his presence.  Hell, he is part measure, no... he is all of the nevers you kept away from.

Only if Hell were a metaphor would I let you come.  That’s the only way he’d be desirable… 'cause if I gave you Hell, the metaphor, he would be more of a dark, passionate statement then eternal damnation.   

Hell could be the only way to express your disdain when preceding a “no.” Or if you’re an older black man, Hell could stand alone….

Hell, the cartographer, forming direction, the most helpful being when vernacular’s missing pieces, “What the Hell?” gives crisp, decent pleadings.

If I could advertise for Hell it would sell like hell: “Go to Hell for desire!”, “Metaphor for Hire”, “More than just fire.”

If I gave you Hell the metaphor, and you paid it forward, audiences would love you for it….follow you close and adore, revere you like never before.  Liken to King Leonidus when he gave the Persians Hell and before he and the 300 fell he promised them “Tonight we dine in Hell.”  And they all danced and yelled because the metaphor meant way much more.

If I gave you Hell… you’d probably thank me for it.

Personification gives anything life... metaphors or similes the like.