I’m holding on to you,
My dear,
I’ll never let you go.
But what if space
Is what I need? I may be
Here, physically,
But my presence isn’t present.
I love you
Don’t you love me?
Yes, but I
Love myself more.
Tag: Fiction
The Broken Doll
She sits on the wooden shelf
An unwelcome grin etched on to her face
As the people around her
Mill around the house
Go about their day
And pay her no attention.
She waits
Patiently with her stiff limbs
Hoping all day
Today’s the day
When they come home
They’ll pick me up off of the shelf
And play with me.
The hour arrives,
The family trudges in
One
By
One
And they begin to mill around the house
And go about the rest of their day
Without a glance at the shelf
Where the doll sits by herself
Waiting for love.
On the Inside
A white Victorian dollhouse
Sits on the playroom floor
Untouched.
The children run around outside
Playing games they’d get in trouble for playing
If only they weren’t
Unsupervised.
Inside the dollhouse
The parents are cold and
Unwelcoming.
They have grown out of love
From constant fighting
Lying
Cheating, and being
Untrustworthy.
After many years
The dollhouse is falling apart.
The roof is collapsing
The support beams are cracking
Termites have destroyed the foundation.
And all the while,
The kids are playing outside
Unaware.
Adult World
Thrust into the adult world
A child
With growing responsibilities.
And so began a torrid love affair
With words
With life
With myself.