I want to feel love Like a hug that comforts Not a drug that quells.
I've been taking lines of love, the only form I know. It doesn't penetrate, it just coats My surfaces. I'm so hidden, I can't even find myself Under my approval-seeking mask.
Will the me who tries less Receive more? I can't know until I try To stop trying, And feel prized for who I am at my raw material Not what I do at my most fearful.
My costume is adored, Maybe my nakedness would be too, Even more so in it's realness? I risk losing my accumulated love stash In exchange for a single drop of the real thing.
It's the difference between an endless supply of painkillers numbing my broken feet, Or putting faith in a cast that heals slow and sure and warm. And then I may finally walk on my own.
Maybe I won't be so tired all the time, Not expending all that effort to be worthy, no belief that my inherint value exists in the sustainable landscape of being. Maybe I'll finally have the energy to rest peacefully In the knowledge that I can be me when I wake.
It's a leap of faith, For someone who has grown comfortable with a hopscotch recipe for success, Fleeting but with a guaranteed buzz.
I don't want to be a tweeker any longer. I want to sober up on the real thing. The pure glass of water that is genuine affection, The bedrest of trust, Puking out my instinct to please And filling up on the notion that I, by myself, am enough For others. And more importantly, For me.