I am not! You deplorable human being! Positive men are positively always talking about who they banged the night before. . . No, I'm kidding. I just think most of the time I get more inspiration from positive ladies.
Besides, ladies aren't afraid to tell it how it really is.
I can be wishy-washy, in fact I got yelled at for being wishy-washy last night. (Then again my mother was out of her estrogen patches, so she was just certifiably insane) "Dre, your whole family is certifiably insane..." I know, ya wanna see my certificate??
I'm a relatively positive human being, always trying to keep an upbeat mentality even when things are rolling downhill. I'm loyal, I trust too easily, I can be greedy and selfish, and kind and selfless all in one half hour. "What??"
I'm greedy and kind when it comes to love, I've come to notice that. Does it sound awful? Not that I don't want anyone else to have my love or someone whom I love's love. Just that, I like to store the love I get. In a box deep down in my chest, that I can unlock and let a little love seep into my heart when it hurts. To let it permeate my mind and my soul, and cleanse away some of the dirt and the grime that comes from the everyday crap. I treat it kindly, I treat the one's I love kindly as much as I can. I like to imagine that the box is made from a section one of the largest Oak trees you've ever seen, that fell in the forest when no one was looking. That it's now home to a myriad of animals seeking refuge on the forest floor, that it soaks up the sunlight and the rainwater like I soak up love. I like to imagine the box is lined with velvety insides and latched with an old heavy lock. That it's hidden between my lungs and under my heart, so that it moves slightly when I breathe.
I think I keep that box, because I don't love myself enough yet. Maybe one day when I love myself and learn, in turn how to once again love someone else with complete abandon. That box will disappear and the love will flood every part of my body and bathe me in the comfort and warmth that seeps out when I let it. That tingly head-to-toe feeling that I can't properly describe. .
