im so scared to be me again
afraid of crawling after you
on my hands and knees
waiting for you

im so afraid that i will be all for you
and none for me

Have you looked at your lover?

Their skin. Warm and soft underneath your fingertips.

Fine hairs, sleepy glances. The corners of their mouth lifted into a smile.

Sometimes, it's like peering into an infinity mirror. You see yourself reflected ten-thousand times; you are them and they are you.

Their touch is home and ******* it, you're homesick.

What do you do when your lover's kiss no longer welcomes you?

When anxiety has it's claws pushed into your chest and you can't help but wonder:

What if they don't love me as much as I love them?

Am I a burden?

Am I too loud? Too soft? Too hard-edged and manic?

How can I trust them when I've been hurt by others before?

Love can't cure depression.

Romance won't wipe away anxiety.

Through sideways glances in ***** mirrors, microwave dinners and cuddles under warm blankets—

You smile. You cry. You move on.

You don't have to love yourself to be loved in return.

I know the pain you feel is deep,
your want from life is simple peace.
And though I cannot guarantee,
please listen closely, as I speak.

Presently you stroll alone,
searching for a hand to hold.
You feel your sorrow in your bones,
in harshest sun, you still feel cold.

Pre - dawn, however, is darkest night
that must be followed by morning light.
I pray you won't give up the fight,
the universe will set things right.

I know at times, it seems unclear
that happiness is always near.
But wholly I believe my dear,
someday soon, you'll find some cheer.

You ask, "How are you?",
but rush past lest I answer,
and take of your time,
in your busy day,
as if you really care.
I want to talk,
to tell you how I am,
and ask for help,
but I'm not fast enough anymore,
and I have no other place
but here,
in the street,
with those who couldn't
care less
if they tried,
throwing questions on my life
like stones,
skipped on a pond,
as they run,
hurrying to oblivion,
plastic jobs,
plastic houses,
a cookie cutter life
soccer and a dog,
and me left behind.
"Hey, call me",
behind a smile as they run
away
of course.
I walk,
head down,
it's easier,
that way.