It’s a thing…

I try. It’s thy heart that refuses to adapt. Honesty at best. I can’t feel much as my wuss retract. From the progression to the valve’s unwillingness to pulsate to another’s presence. There’s a limited amount of emotional interactions I can reciprocate as it makes things tense. I mean well but I’m a man that just wants to precipitate the only way I know how to. I try, it’s just I don’t operate by someone else’s fingertips attempting to get me to move. No strings attached isn’t a sexual thing to me, I can’t be a puppet to anyone’s dreams. Bcuz here in reality there’s a version of me I’d havta ignore to perform. Away from me is a thing to find an another luv’r. Never to return once they’ve fallen into pleasing others. The final result is they wouldn’t want the real me that didn’t contribute to their selfish gains of luv that smothers. I try. I give things time. I’m pure in my intent. My use just doesn’t come from my chest. The tenderness I possess is accordingly throughout a day. There’s moments to show what matters in a physical sense without the possibility of being tamed. Why can’t a man be what he is to be felt?  Who says a woman knows how a man’s supposed to conduct himself? But if one hasta try, is it natural? So what am I to be, external or internal? Sensitively, I can merely competent it from a masculine perspective. The over emotional tendencies to kid and visit isn’t a comfort detected. I’m a safe place right there glitter sprinkled into my mind. Just one man trying to live my life…