thorns and other maladies

56

i feel it seep out of me
like ichor dripping
from apollo's wrist
as the ache takes over
the urge to be known
so strong
so potent
forever unfulfilled
i crave to know someone
inside and out
to reach in their soul
and see the universe in them
to dance on every galaxy inside
and make snow angels in the stardust
i crave to be known
to feel as though i am a book well read
to have someone annotate my pages
highlight their favorite lines
to have someone yellow the paper
and leave fingerprints on the ink
but is that ever truly possible?
could i ever really
trip over the constellations
in another's psyche
or am i only fooling myself?
could anyone ever
want to know me so well?
want to see the ichor
that drips from my wrist?
could anyone ever want to
watch me bleed?
and even if so
could they handle it?
to know someone so well
is to be them in a way
and could anyone ever be me?
would anyone ever want to?
would i ever want to be anyone else?
these are the questions
that seep out of me
like a vein searching for its heart
reaching out
grasping for something
just to feel connected
just to feel human
and i suppose this is what living is
forever searching for something
that you may never receive
forever trying to stop
the ichor from dripping
forever begging to be seen
and to see in return
i ache for this
but in a way
i suppose we all do

—the human condition