She stares right through the hill I hide behind,
right past the smoke and mirrors that keep me safe,
and she smiles,
as if she is pleased to see me,
just as I am,
with no pretence, no playing pretend,
just me, the way that God made me.
She has so many friends.
When I see her socialising,
I feel lonely,
like the last bird in the Amazon, when it’s gone,
(one day, it will be gone),
battling through another dismal day with nobody to call out to.
I don’t mean to,
God knows, I’ve been seriously trying to be more self sufficient,
but something about her makes me feel lost when I am not the lone target of her eyeline.
She unwraps me, like I am a birthday gift,
she unwraps me slowly,
excited eyes but patient fingertips,
saving the best for last as she rests between soft thighs and sighs as if she has finally found a home.
She asks me often,
if I think that she is beautiful,
and my soul sours at the thought that nobody has told her,
I show her all the stanzas that escaped my heart,
and howled to the moon about how magnificent she is.