This isn’t technically a poem, but it’s close to it.
It was a simple task on record, but off it was easily the hardest thing she could ever hope to accomplish.
In his arms, things were safe, warm, delicate but on the outside of his embrace she was finding life hard to cope with. On the outside there were no gentle kisses to her lips, cheek and forehead to reassure her of her safety. There was no strong arms to hold her up from hitting rock bottom. And there was certainly no peaceful slumber.
She could argue that he didn’t understand what he did to her. She could almost be certain that he didn’t know of the delicate emotions that erupted with every twitch of his fingers and every flutter of his eyelashes against her cheek. And, of course, she knew without a doubt that he didn’t know about the sensations she felt when he pressed his bare flesh against hers, or nuzzled her neck.
In fact, she wasn’t even quite sure herself. The only word previously used to describe these intense emotions was “butterflies”. The word seemed so broad now. The butterflies referred to a feeling in your chest or stomach, not a feeling that washed over your skin in waves, making you feel warm, safe and wanted.
Outside of his arms was where she currently resided, head resting on her knees, eyes staring sideways at the blue wall in her darkened room. One hour being both the exact amount of time he had been gone and the exact amount of time she slept the previous evening (or morning, but who’s counting).
She was tired, her mind ceased making sense and she still tingled from the whisper of his touch (strong arms previously wrapped around her). Her body ached to both be with him and to drift off into a peaceful slumber, where her memories of those few beautiful (however, fleeting) moments they shared earlier in the day would be on repeat (and not drenched in blue around the edges).
Alas, neither ache would subside as neither want would come true.
Peace was written on the walls, on her sheets, on her blanket, on her clothes, but never in her mind. Slumber was painted where it was able to be seen, but not to be acted out. Love was at the fore front of her mind, body still holding sweet whispers of caresses.
Dear Mr. Sandman,
the slumber never calms
the waking beast
changing their heart
to let someone in
but perhaps, it’s misery.
How much I love you is honestly a testament to how much I hate myself.
You gave me an ultimatum. I did what you wanted. Quit my job, changed to a different one. I did absolutely everything you asked. Then last night when we were laying in bed, you were holding me, kissing my forehead, caressing my cheek gently…telling me how beautiful I am.
I whispered so softly you almost didn’t hear it
“I love you”
and you laughed
When all of our friends are married and you’re still fooling around, I guess it’ll all make sense to me then.
you are and always will be…
& i even love that about you
My entire mouth tastes like coffee on the inside. I haven’t had coffee in probably 3 months. But every 8 minutes for 6 to 8 hours straight I have to brew coffee. Over and over and over again. I can do it in my sleep now.
1. Reset Timer
I had a friend once who told me
“You’re a joke, your art sucks, your emotive writing makes me laugh. Every single bad thing that happens to you…you deserve. I’ve been a good friend for you for so long and…”
and it hurt, but I guess I deserved it because I wasn’t afraid to call her out
on the things she would’ve rather not been aired on her personal page
she really isn’t a good person
or a good friend
because all she really is…
is this cheap, bitter, unreliable, irritating person
who has no place in my life
and her friendship is literally laughable
because she’s the same person, who told me
“There’s no such thing as bisexual. You can’t be bisexual because it doesn’t exist. You can’t be attracted to both men and women. You’re dating a man, you’re straight.”
and the worst thing is, she’s homosexual
it made me feel like
no one would ever accept me
because I couldn’t help being attracted to both sexes
I thought there was something wrong with me…
I still do
Obiwan loves his family but somethingtesd they dob;’t know what to even thing. somethimes terhere is a griafffew tith a crossbow and then some puchuoc people, but mostly he just loves the winswed.
pademas is very into like y’know not dying to shtey move sa lot amnd thet tinw sare mostly eokeay 3hyw iweht.
but everything is actually connected ot wyterbrt.
SDpm pnowam ,ales sire je mpws amd tjre are sp,e ;ole [[[e;e om [;aces turomg tp ,asler soitr erbeutjomg cp,ers tpyghjetrjer nity je dpesm
t wamt ot cp,e cp,er tjteot. ;nrt/ jer eamts jods twoms top ne plau wotj eberutjomg/ rtjheu wremt nity je trioes. ,agic s w aerpod tjomg/.