me life in musings

the only way i think of myself as a writer is that i write. sometimes for money, sometimes for sanity's sake, sometimes for the sake of just writing. nothing special. nothing that's never been done before. this is my attempt at expressing myself. i tested introvert on a personality answer sheet that i took some years ago. so here i am trying to express since singing or dancing are clearly off the table. i still dance and sing, not always in private as my loving mother had hoped.

Friday, 18 April 2014

desired

does he make me feel loved?
love?
he makes me feel desired.
Tangled in my hair,
resting on my shoulders,
circling my waist and stomach,
on my leg,
on my knee,
he makes sure his hands never left my body.
when i stir
he stirs with me
just to make sure
whatever position i decide to sleep in,
i am always enveloped in his arms.
how can i complain
about my imperfections,
when he has kissed
every inch of my me.
traced cities,
written words,
on my skin
with his fingers
and tongue.
i am desired
in the way that
i will always want.

the truth about the river

the truth is,
i held out my arms
to embrace you
and interupt your flow.

the truth is,
when i dipped my feet
i thought that
your current would break.

but i watched you go on
and i said, 'just go on.'
the truth is
i know, i can't ask a river to stay.