It's one of those days when I miss you terribly--
One of those days when I think I'm wasting my life;
locked away in a room,
reading,
reading,
reading.
Saturday, March 28, 2015
Friday, March 13, 2015
Do You Love Me?
Do you love me?
(It’s not just the cry of a
clingy, hormonal teen.)
It is the unspoken question every
child longs to know:
the little girl spinning in her
pink, fluffy dress;
the little boy begging you to watch
him win this next match.
Do you love me?
(It’s not just about securing a
wedding ring.)
It is the unspoken question every
searching eye pleads:
the young woman waiting to be
noticed;
the young man hoping to impress a
potential boss.
Do you love me?
(It’s not just an attempt to
manipulate.)
It is the unspoken question of
every lonely spouse:
the wife who cannot coax her
husband to speak;
the husband who cannot admit his
own deepening fatigue.
Do you love me?
(It’s not about feelings,
sensuality, or desirability for sex.)
It is a question of worth:
Do you see me?
Am I valuable?
Do I possess beauty?
And strength?
Do I have worth, in your eyes?
Tell me: Am I lovable?
Saturday, March 7, 2015
Silence
You, the Philosopher.
Me, the subject
to be hemmed
and regarded
and prescribed.
You wanted dialogue,
but only left breadth for my
silence.
You, the Artist.
Me, the model
to be still,
to be captured.
No turning my head,
no looking away,
no parting my lips:
“Silence.”
You, the Agnostic.
Me, the rosary
to be Beauty,
to be Saintliness,
to keep you near the Faith.
You wanted to pray upon me
while I lay within your hands in
silence.
Mixed Signals
I ask you to reveal your depths,
and you reply:
I only share that with the one I am with.
Then I share my depths,
just because it's who I am
(and perhaps to tempt you to do
the same).
You ask to hold my hand,
and I reply:
I only share that with the one
I show my heart.
But I’ve shared with you my
depths
and perhaps that is my heart,
so you take my hand—
and I wonder what I've given away.
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