And he said, ‘Pretty Baby you’re so special to me. With my eyes how I wish you could see, the visage of your majesty. Pretty Baby please come onto me. Can’t you see it’s our destiny.”
Words like honey with a touch that was warm, can cloud the mind like a mid-summer storm.
Striving to see with eyes that aren’t yours. The failure of it keeps making you unsure. And every day he’s there knocking on your door saying, “Pretty Baby, you’re more beautiful than before.”
So you close you eyes, you’re blind and cannot see through the many layers of past insecurity. Knowing deep down that it could never be that the ‘Pretty Baby’ he speaks of is me . . .