i worry that i will never love as everyone else seems to,
will never wake up fresh faced with morning breath
clinging to the one i love in sleep,
safe in the knowledge that they protect me
unintentionally,
they protect my fears
and my dreams and
my love for them,
the soft cotton of their sleep shirt
brushing against the sliver of skin at my hip.
i worry that i will never love nor be loved
as everyone else seems to,
unconditionally and irrevocably,
without question or jest,
at least for a time.
i have never been loved in this way,
not by friends, not by family,
i have woken from sleepovers to empty sheets
and discovered what it is like
to have a birthday sans presents.
i worry that my love is not enough
that one day i may fall into the glorious arms
of the woman i have forever dreamed of,
and she will right me with a smile,
and go on her way.
i worry that i cannot be loved,
that i cannot love
but still
i hope
that perhaps one day
i will wake up curled in another's embrace
i dream of someone who will protect me
from myself.
i worry that i will not be loved as others are but
there is always hope.
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 3:38 AM UTC
Summer fades fast
like the shadows on a broken projector,
the scenes play out day in and day out,
it looks like a rom-com but it feels like horror,
each night I go home
and I lay in bed alone
and I say
I do not love
I do not love
I do not love.
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 2:10 AM UTC
It is a proven fact that cats love yarn,
But cats also love anything they can run after,
Especially if it jingles.
Cats love yarn
But it is not enough to make them stay
At the foot of my bed
While I wait in the dark
For the monsters under my bed
To get me.
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 2:39 AM UTC
You are winter.
You are jingles playing through department store speakers and
My feet slipping through the frost on the drive and
You are the time turning, changing the sky
Changing me.
Now it’s dark when I wake
Dark long before I rest, stars already playing in the night sky
While I sit and work at the kitchen table,
While my roots grow auburn
and I get those last few inches in
before it is officially too late for me to get any taller.
You are winter, and I love you.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 5:25 AM UTC