You make me smile at the pale light
that creeps under my eyelids
and whose fingers pry them open
pestering me until I wake
You secret behind my ribcage
that pulses straight through my skin
and climbs like a vine to my lips
and overgrows in my head
‘til all I can see is flowers
and still, still, it remains you
that lodges inside of me so
but leaves me no words at all
to tell anyone how I feel,
so I will remain silent
or I will just shrug as I say,
“he’s alright most of the time,”
and no one will know I’m blooming.
Dec 26, 2011
Dec 26, 2011 at 10:20 AM UTC
You make me smile at the pale light
that creeps under my eyelids
and whose fingers pry them open
pestering me until I wake
You secret behind my ribcage
that pulses straight through my skin
and climbs like a vine to my lips
and overgrows in my head
‘til all I can see is flowers
and still, still, it remains you
that lodges inside of me so
but leaves me no words at all
to tell anyone how I feel,
so I will remain silent
or I will just shrug as I say,
“he’s alright most of the time,”
and no one will know I’m blooming.
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