My desire to be safe
is a flower in false bloom;
I hold you close to my chest,
wary of the fluctuation in
temperature.
Spring has already been promised,
then cruelly snatched away like
butterfly wings.
Can I protect you (us)
from another frost?
You are a poorly camouflaged
sign of life in a hopeless land.
I'm convinced someone
will see your footprints -
a path of resistance I can't erase.
But, I'm wrong.
No one sees you.
You're not real.
This desire is not tangible.
No one can save me but myself.
I know this.
It's a nightly mantra that seems
to both shield and expose
the perceived strength I have.
And although others should be there
to rely on when I'm not strong,
I can't force them to care.
I feel like an obligation.
A shadow that is told "you matter",
because we have nothing else to say
and who wants to confront what
lies in the shadows anyways?
I wish I could let someone
carry this loneliness,
to lift the burden momentarily,
but even when they do...
it's never enough.
(I wish I could let it be enough).
___________________________________
Written while listening to "Fourth of July" by Sufjan Stevens:
