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Dirt May 2
I want connection without the plea,

A quiet knowing, you see me.
Not in the loud, performative way,

But in the hush of everyday.
I want safety in a soul's soft place,

Room to cry, to laugh, to misplace,

My calm, and not be cast aside,

But held, gently, while the storm subsides.
I want love that doesn’t need a stage,

But shows up anyway, day by day.

Love that’s in the dishes,

In the tangled legs,

In the bad jokes told while making eggs.
I want to come home and find you there,

Not fixing me, just being near.

Existing together in shared delight,

In morning messes and candlelight.
I want to be known, not just the face,

But all the shadows I still embrace.

Someone who’s curious, patient, true,

Who asks me questions no one else knew.
I want peace, not tiptoed dread,

Not feeling watched, or words unsaid.

But steady love, with open eyes,

With truth that never needs disguise.
I want passion, in your world and mine,

A partner who finds the time
,
To walk beside me, chase the spark,

Map constellations in the dark.
I want spontaneity, trails unplanned,

To dance in the ocean, or lie in the sand.

To hold your hand and not feel small,

To be my whole self, flaws and all.
When I'm anxious, I want your calm,

Not to fix me, just to lend your palm.

Stand with me while I learn to cope,

Rooted in love, and grounded hope.
I want space, but never distance.

Closeness with coexistence.
Not every second marked or planned,
But side by side hand in hand.

A love that grows, wild and wise,

But always finds its way back to "us" every time.
Dirt May 1
Waiting around for your response,
Candlelight flickers in a hanging sconce.
A letter or message, what will it be?
A simple "hey" from you to me.

Which mode will you elect?
A tidal wave, or just a text?
Drown me in your heavy words,
Or toss me gently to the curb.

Leave no words left unsaid,
Don’t bash it into my head.
I've ached and wondered for so long,
Waiting for your little song.

My ear pressed up against the door,
Wishing, waiting, wanting more
Dirt Apr 27
I am not a bottle of shampoo.
Yet I keep watering myself down,
diluting everything that once made me
rich, whole, enough.

I stretch myself thin,
like plastic pulled too far,
translucent, fragile.
I work too much,
as if sacrificing my life could patch the leaks.

I am afraid to take up space.
Afraid that presence is too loud,
that my fullness might offend.
So I pour myself out in teaspoons,
measured, polite, disappearing.

If I keep watering myself down,
there will be nothing left
of the original product,
just a bottle,
and a label full of water.

Branded, but empty.
Dirt Apr 27
The hand that beat you becomes the one that wipes away the tears,
The back that turned away from you becomes the one to carry your weight,
The shadow that cast upon you becomes the shade in which you find solace.
Funny,
how pain learns to cradle you,
or how we learn to let it.
Dirt Apr 25
Kick your boots off, stay a while.
Hang your hat by the door.
Let the weight slip from your shoulders.

Wash the dust from your skin,
in the steam of my shower.
Rest your head on my chest,
I’ll tussle your hair, slow and easy.

No expectations here.
Just quiet.
Just breath.
Just us.
Dirt Apr 25
Little bird,
Your cage is not of my making.
Little bird,
I see the weight you carry, silent, unseen.
Little bird,
My hand is open, only if you wish to land.
Little bird,
I promise not to squeeze too tight.
Little bird,
I'd never clip your wings.
Little bird,
I’d never take your sky from you.
Little bird,
Let me build you shelter, not a cage.
Little bird,
I’ll walk beside you, not ahead.
Little bird,
I ask for nothing, only that you know,
Little bird,
You are free, even here with me.
Dirt Apr 19
I type and delete.
I write and erase.
I compose and destroy.
The poems I haven't written could fill books.
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