The ink of my pen hasn’t dried

Smodged and incoherent as my mind

With little hearts that toe the lines

Of obsession or love that’s not defined

Virtuous morals causes disquietude

Anxiously wondering if you’ll make your move

I’ve done my part, planted the seed

Writing in pink “can I have your babies”

Who’d think things could get misconstrued

Condescending answers tore me in two

And to think you could dissuade me

This is the beginning of our journey