Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

I’ve Been Made Up For Several Hours, With Nowhere To Go

Saffron on my skin,

soft and sentimental,

sensitive to the time,

sending signals with my actions,

seeking answers on your intentions.

Seven PM seems about right,

so why am I nervous?

Surely soon meant soon?

Seven wasn’t a sure thing,

sure. Neither was today,

so, maybe I’m building myself up,

so high, just to fall,

sobbing over “soon” meaning different things,

(saying softly to myself that I have yet to actually cry, and that the night is as young as I feel when you kiss me)

spilled milk,

something or nothing.

Sure, you’re busy,

so, I should be too,

sadly, I’m just lost in my selfishness,

surrendering to my childish grasps for your attention.

So, I worry that I expect too much,

so, I shut down, write a poem,

so, I miss you,

(so, I don’t know where THAT came from)

so, I’m afraid to tell you, in case I come across as too much,

so, I sleep for an hour, and hope, you’ll want to see me.

See me,

see my soft skin,

sitting on my bed,

seeking you.

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