I love the idea of being held,
The thought of a man wrapping his arms around me,
Protecting me from the world,
The thought that I don't have to do this on my own,
But here I am, on my own.
Not that any of the guys I've dated have been like that,
I was a safe harbor for them,
Them less so for me,
I tried to take care of them,
But I never was a priority,
Never quite important enough to be put first.
All I want is to feel important,
Like I am all he needs,
Like I'm his entire universe,
Like I am all he sees,
And I know that's a lot to ask for,
Unrealistic, really.
Is it unrealistic to ask for flowers?
For no other reason than because he cares,
For him to open doors for me,
To run his fingers through my hair,
For him to kiss me in public,
'Cause I'm his and he's mine,
For him to tell me that he loves me,
And for me to see it in his eyes,
For him to remember little things about me,
Like the story behind my name,
Or for him to open up to me,
So that I can share his pain.
Is it unrealistic to want him to hold me?
And tell me that everything will be alright,
To have a safe harbor that's wholly and completely mine,
For him to be reliable,
My rock in a stormy sea,
For him to be strong,
For him to be strong for me.
Is it unrealistic to want to feel important,
All the time?
To feel safe, and loved, and unafraid,
To stop re-breaking this heart of mine.
All I want, when he wraps his arms around me,
Is to feel like I am home,
To feel like I can face anything,
Cause I'm not facing it alone.
I'm tired of having to be strong,
Tired of feeling so weak,
I need him to be strong,
To be strong for me,
Not all the time,
Just when I'm splintering.
I want him to wrap me in his arms,
And bury his face in my hair,
To hold me in his arms,
Like he needs me the way I need to be there.
I love the idea of being held.
May 26, 2020
May 26, 2020 at 3:22 PM UTC
Little one,
My precious one,
What now have you gone and wrought?
What is the fruit of the toils,
Of all the trouble you've sought?
Little one,
My dearest one,
You've gone and ran so far,
Won't you stop running and come here?
Come rest here in my arms.
May 26, 2020
May 26, 2020 at 12:22 PM UTC
If my life was a book,
What genre would it be?
I don't think there's a genre for lonely,
Not lonely from other people,
But lonely from myself,
But that's not me,
Not constantly,
There are just days the sun shines,
And the rays seem to miss my face,
It wouldn't be a tragedy,
Even though there are days I think it could be,
I don't believe that my life is tragic,
Tragic things just happen sometimes,
I wouldn't call it a comedy,
No matter how much I'd like for it to be,
I can't imagine how easy it would be,
To only have to laugh,
If this is supposed to be a romance,
The author is doing a **** poor job,
I can't think of anything less romantic,
Then the way that boys have treated me,
But I know life's not that simple,
To be pinned down by just one word,
It leaves the good things or the bad things,
One or the other gets left unheard,
Life is complex and stories,
So many things have happened to me,
There are so many things that I've been,
So many things I want to be,
If my life was book,
The genre wouldn't matter to me,
The important question is,
Would it be a book worth reading?
May 25, 2020
May 25, 2020 at 10:48 PM UTC
I don't know how to write this down,
What words are there for the longing
felt by a nineteen year old girl sitting on her bed
staring out the window at 1:30 in the morning
after finishing Pride and Prejudice for the umpteenth time?
What words can express the burning desire
for something she's never had,
nor is likely to have,
that grips her heart and freezes her brain
as she stares out the darkened window?
Part of me wants to make it poetry,
Silver beams,
Fall through the branches of the tree,
And wash over my face,
Like the tears my heart cannot conjure,
Strangely empty, it seems,
Is the sky,
Apart from those silver beams,
And my soul is still and quiet,
But anxious and impatient,
And for what I know not,
But even poetry is insufficient,
No pretty turn of phrase can encompass the simultaneous
swelling and crushing and binding and breaking and burning of my heart
as I stared at what little moonlight filtered through the leaves,
The house around me, deafeningly quiet,
Like a living tomb that entraps me,
What restlessness is this,
And what is it's end?
May 21, 2020
May 21, 2020 at 6:11 PM UTC
I danced in the living room,
There wasn't any music, just light,
And this sweet pervasive feeling,
That everything would be alright,
I had almost forgot what it felt like,
For everything to just be okay,
For the sun to rise and not see me cry,
And set the exact same way,
I danced in the living room,
And no was around to see,
The way I spun and twirled and danced,
Was completely and unabashedly me,
I almost forgot who that girl was,
Who calls my body home,
She's spent all this time aching to get out,
And I wish that I had known,
I danced in the living room,
Until I lost all that light,
But I held onto that feeling,
That everything would be alright.
Jan 23, 2020
Jan 23, 2020 at 6:49 PM UTC
I danced in the kitchen last night,
There wasn't any music,
There was just me,
And the TV,
And the feeling that I was free,
Like my body lost its borders,
Like I forgot what it was to fear,
Like for once in my life,
I was real and alive and here,
I danced in the kitchen last night,
In a noisy house,
All on my own,
And for once in my life,
I felt like my body was my home,
I want to bottle up that feeling,
That I am all I need,
I want to capture that feeling,
That God cut my strings and I was freed,
I danced in the kitchen last night,
And I don't know if I will again,
But dancing in the kitchen,
Felt like a beginning,
Not an end.
Jan 21, 2020
Jan 21, 2020 at 6:51 PM UTC
You'll never win homecoming queen,
And you'll be ok with it,
Until your grandma says,
'Oh sweetheart, you were never a homecoming queen type of girl.'
Cause that'll hurt.
You'll never win prom queen,
Cause popularity contests were never your thing,
And that's ok,
Cause you'll be valedictorian,
Top of your class,
Take names,
Kick ***
***** what they think or say,
It doesn't matter.
You'll never be a beauty queen,
Until around the age of sixteen,
You finally realize that you're beautiful,
You'll have to figure that out on your own,
Because hearing it from yourself will mean more,
Than hearing it from anyone else.
You'll learn to be your own queen,
In every way that means anything,
You'll revolt against all the rulers of your body till you're the only one left,
The ****** rebellion of your youth will yield a prosperous reign on your terms,
So stick to your guns,
You queen,
I know what it means to be a girl like me,
To be a queen,
Only.
Jan 21, 2020
Jan 21, 2020 at 6:41 PM UTC
There are days when my pride,
Rears its head against the image,
Of me in ten years, a settled house wife,
A child on one hip,
My hand on the other,
Spectacled eyes surveying a yard that hold more children,
And a dog,
Or two,
Turning back to answer the call of an oven full of chocolate chip cookies,
In a house bought specifically to house these children,
There are days my wild spirit,
Balk at the thought of being tied to a house,
Especially one bought to specifically house children,
So that I cannot follow the winds and the whims that have always guided me,
So that my spontaneity will be molded into responsibility,
So that these hands that were made for writing will have no time to pick up a pen,
There are days my fickle heart,
Laughs at the notion of a little metal band,
Tying me to one man,
You see, I've never been good at commitment,
Heart breaker, name taker, I've been called them all,
Some of the names are less kind,
But my heart has always been mine,
I've never had the courage to give it to anybody else,
But when these parts of me grow tired,
When all they want is rest,
And my fickle heart beats softly in my chest,
I long for bright eyed children,
And a home and that one man,
For the call of a cookie filled oven,
For a wedding ring on my hand,
Being a poet is exhausting,
And being a fool is the same,
I am either one or the other,
Or both, both difficult to tame,
And some day I will grow weary,
Of being difficult and insane,
But I will never be done writing,
So I don't know that I'll ever change,
But I'll try to,
Whether or not I change my name,
Maybe I can take these two halves,
And make them one and the same,
One hand for holding children,
The other for holding a pen,
But then again,
This cycle may never end,
Because, there are days when my pride,
Jan 21, 2020
Jan 21, 2020 at 6:26 PM UTC
That little girl I used to be,
With an easy laugh and smile,
Her heart did not know heartbreak,
Tears did not dim her eyes,
Her skin was tan and freckled,
Her hair was bleached by the sun,
And she never did know a stranger,
And was frightened by no one.
She was reckless, brave, and witty,
With a sharp mind and a sharper tongue,
She always stayed up too late reading,
She couldn't leave a book till it was done,
She was quick to anger but quick to forgiving,
With a heart so full of love,
She was always far too giving,
And never thought to put herself before anyone,
Who killed her?
Who put the last straw on the back,
Of the camel that cast her aside?
Who caused that final tear,
To stain her soul with salty pride?
Who was the one who slit her throat,
And left her in a ditch to die?
Who killed the little girl,
Who's name used to be mine?
Jan 21, 2020
Jan 21, 2020 at 6:05 PM UTC
Let me go gentle into that good night,
Old age has pushed me to the end of my day,
Softly, softly, into that golden light.
Wise men, at their end, know that dark is right,
I know my words have forked no lightning in the sky
But let me go gentle into that good night.
Goodly I, the last wave by, seeing how bright
My past little deeds have danced in the green bay,
Softly, softly, into that golden light.
Wildly I caught and sang the sun in its glorious flight,
And learned to rejoice, not grieve it on its way,
Let me go gentle into that good night.
I lay, near death, yet see with blinding sight
Young eyes that blaze like meteors and be gay,
Softly, softly, into that golden light.
And now, I sit, there on this sad height,
Sing, bless me now with your sweet tears, I pray.
Let me go gentle into that good night.
Softly, softly, into that golden light.
May 6, 2019
May 6, 2019 at 4:14 PM UTC