He bumps into me and stops as a form of saying
"I'm here."
"This is me."
I glance down at the battered road beneath our feet.
Even though his navy sneakers are heading West and my plum flats are heading East I once again lie to myself that we're on the same path so we must want the same things.
And I stand and wonder if that one shoulder touch is enough for him.
'Cause it will never be for me.
Not when every inch of my body is screaming.
"Please touch me."
And I want to be held in something other than chestnut brown eyes with a hint of something darker.
Something beautiful he locks away from everyone, including me.
I'm tired of trying to decipher secret messages from his Morse code that may or may not be for me.
I'm not young anymore; this isn't enough.
I'm not content with side ways russet glances and rose tinted smirks.
And I refuse to back track,
Into the grave I've dug myself out of when I buried myself at ten years old.
When I believed I wasn't enough.
I am enough.
I know my voice,
And not just the one in my head.
I am heard.
And I am loved.
I have enough self love and strength to not regret pointing a person to the nearest exit if they can't love me too.
I am no longer that shy little girl.
My hair is no longer tamed in two little braids.
She is free like me and wisps with every call from the wind toward freedom and the girl she's supposed to be.
So hate me for wanting more than a silent love.
Because we both know I deserve better than this.
We both do: deserve better than this.
I gracefully flow through the halls of this empty life.
A world without color and sound.
A home where I need noise.
A place where a silent love like us will be destroyed.
I memorize his back as I gain up on his speed.
This may be the last memory of him I'll ever keep.
Our shoulders bump as a form of saying.
"I'm here."
It takes a lot more than this to make me stay.
"This is me."
I love you (too).
So please give me a reason to stay.
But I guess sometimes, the same path doesn't take you to the same destination.
That is, at least, when your heading toward the rising sun and he is the shadow at your feet.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
Poetry"I know that sometimes for people, I feel like too much; But let me kiss away the phantom pain that the scars remind you of, Let me kiss the burns on your hands, From when you touched the burning fire within my soul. Let me show you that yes, I am...
