Spring 2012, ISSN 2161-2846.
Run their hands down the sides of my mind.
Touch the soft curves of my thoughts and
brush against the fragile bones of my soul.
I want to be addicted.
A junkie looking for my next fix,
searching for a way to pay for my next moment, of euphoria.
I want to feel needed.
That choking feeling of hope
that someone would grab the rope
before I jump before I let go.
Because I ache for more than the surface.
More than conversation down dates
and broken hotel rooms.I want to feel real.
Push me against the wall and tear the clothing off my heart.
I want to expose all
my dreams and fears,
without being afraid,
to fall apart.
Comb your fingers through my mind.
— Don’t let go, pull, tug!
I want to show you, everything.
I want to fall in love.