tired bones in fraying skin
My bones are tired if for no other reason than that they need love. I need a pair of strong hands to iron out the creases in my back. How can I wear my skin with pride when you can see the creases from where it was folded at the seams?
Humpf! I thought I was cured of this disease. I thought I was purged of the sickness of having his face in my thoughts. I am tired of feeling feverish and giddy with a love that cannot last. It must end.
How do you torture me so? The absence of you in my life is slowly undoing me at the seams. I know you don't see this but if you continue in this cruel disregard you will find yourself talking to me one day and if you stand too near to me, near enough that I can catch a whiff of your sweet smelling thoughts, I shall sneeze and off will fall my skin. And we will be left there in epitomal awkardness, me naked and undone, you still neatly hemmed in to you perfect ways. I want you to at least undo you top collar button when you are with me. I want to see your flesh. But wait, don't let that frighten you. It is not your skin I am after it is the tenderness of your humanity. I want to be the one to know what colour you turn when you smile. I want to know how to mix you the perfect hue of happiness that will paint your smile to life every time you see my face - just like you do for me. I don't want to be the only one open at the seams like this. I have let you in so many times. Even on the days when you chose not to come in I have let you in anyway. Pulled you in with all my devices but you never stay. Not long enough for me to really see you anyway.
I don't want you to know how undone i am over you. By the time you notice that you were the cause of my disease these few days when I have kept me eyes on the periphery of your gaze, I shall be healed. I just need a little time. A little time to sew my self back up with stronger thread than before. This time next lifetime, when I am closed again and fully in my skin, you will look at the trail of stitches and the smooth patch that I have sewn over my heart and darned with flesh coloured thread and ask in your gentle voice, "What happened? Who did this to you." That day I will smile at you and you will know. You will know that it was you. But I will be healed so it won't even matter. I will be safely in my skin.
Humpf! I thought I was cured of this disease. I thought I was purged of the sickness of having his face in my thoughts. I am tired of feeling feverish and giddy with a love that cannot last. It must end.
How do you torture me so? The absence of you in my life is slowly undoing me at the seams. I know you don't see this but if you continue in this cruel disregard you will find yourself talking to me one day and if you stand too near to me, near enough that I can catch a whiff of your sweet smelling thoughts, I shall sneeze and off will fall my skin. And we will be left there in epitomal awkardness, me naked and undone, you still neatly hemmed in to you perfect ways. I want you to at least undo you top collar button when you are with me. I want to see your flesh. But wait, don't let that frighten you. It is not your skin I am after it is the tenderness of your humanity. I want to be the one to know what colour you turn when you smile. I want to know how to mix you the perfect hue of happiness that will paint your smile to life every time you see my face - just like you do for me. I don't want to be the only one open at the seams like this. I have let you in so many times. Even on the days when you chose not to come in I have let you in anyway. Pulled you in with all my devices but you never stay. Not long enough for me to really see you anyway.
I don't want you to know how undone i am over you. By the time you notice that you were the cause of my disease these few days when I have kept me eyes on the periphery of your gaze, I shall be healed. I just need a little time. A little time to sew my self back up with stronger thread than before. This time next lifetime, when I am closed again and fully in my skin, you will look at the trail of stitches and the smooth patch that I have sewn over my heart and darned with flesh coloured thread and ask in your gentle voice, "What happened? Who did this to you." That day I will smile at you and you will know. You will know that it was you. But I will be healed so it won't even matter. I will be safely in my skin.