Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing


I thought that I needed to be needed,
up to my knees in all your desires,
wading through wishes and breathing in the rare moments of calm.
I tore myself apart for temporary,
because I have no idea how to aspire to anything else,
and you leave with a smile and a “sorry”,
returning when the sun sets to say it again.

My door is always open,
but I stand on the porch,
praying on my knees for someone who will see me,
someone who will stay,
someone who will satisfy a heart that howls to be held,
and you walk past, like you could be the one,
both of us knowing that you never were,
but never being able to say “no”.

You tell me that you’re sorry,
sweeping up the scarred slivers of my heart,
and I could swear that I used to be smarter,
back, before I let my own desires get the better of me,
nothing in my skin, or on my skin,
just some self destructive section of my soul that wants to be held and remembered when I leave the room and you,
you saunter in with your smile and your “sorry” and I start to believe a lie that nobody ever vocalised,
because I am a slave to my solitude.

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