I’m laying here in the dark and I know I should be asleep but all I can think about is your voice in my ear. Reading to me. Just talking about nothing and still it was something to me. With your random nouns and patient questions. And oh how I longed to be laying in your arms in that moment. Forgetting everything that went before. Overcoming every doubt and fear and just…. being. Being someone who is cared for. Being someone important. Being worth it. Being met intellectually and physically. Being transformed into a better person. Being courageous. Being yours. Being the One you long for. Being whole. And as I kept listening, you began to tell me you wanted me. Where I should put my hands and how I should respond. And oh how I did. Following every instruction to the letter. I could almost feel your arms wrapped around me as I shook and shivered, breathless and whimpering. You seemed pleased with my response and I could picture your hooded eyes and your body laying next to me. Then you kept talking and I kept listening while you shared a slice of your life with me. Problem is, I want more than just the leftover crumbs. I want all of you. I want to be the first thing you see when you open your eyes each morning. I want to be yours, owned completely and wholly. I want you to tell me my poetry sucks and I should try my hand at something more suitable. I want you to tell me about your day when you get home, even if we’ve texted all day long. I want you to be my voice of reason. I want you to use me to release your frustrations and let me share the burden. I want you to be distracted by me. I want you to let me love you. Of course… I can’t tell you any of this. Instead I’ll keep it to myself and post it on my anonymous blog under a pen name, hoping you’ll never read what I’ve written about you. About us. Maybe someday I’ll learn to be brave and tell you all that’s in my heart. But that’s not today. Today I wrote bad poetry and wrapped my arms around myself and cried more than I have the right to and I thought about you all fucking day long.
Writer and Artist
a collection of short poetry from an autistic mind
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The Lies in the Skies Exposed
"When I am writing, I am trying to find out who I am..." --Maya Angelou
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... from a silent space
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