I have not posted a poem in a long time – since before the archive debacle of last autumn, in fact. So some poor souls have no warning about the angsty “poetry” I sometimes write.
This came in the wee hours of this morning while I was not sleeping. Well, of course I was not sleeping! I would not be writing angsty poetry if I was sleeping. At any rate, I’m leaving it raw. Not sure I think it’s worth polishing.
inside me is a lost little girl.
small and frightened and alone.
I don’t even know where she comes from -
she isn’t me. at least not the me I remember.
I can see her, so tiny, so very small.
and I know what she feels,
what she wants. the things that
she can never have.
it doesn’t seem to me
that these things are so big
or unusual. why can’t she,
or I, have someone to hold her.
someone who loves her.
I know, I understand
that I am is not this child.
but I feel her longing,
I dream her dreams.
and I ache for her, and for
the me that I know.
sometimes I wish that I was this girl.
lost and alone she may be, but
in my dreams, her dreams,
she finds the things she can’t have.
it isn’t perfect,
but it’s more than I will ever have.
Wow. That’s even more depressing this morning. For anyone who wants to be inflicted with more angsty (and some erotic) poetry, I’ve got some of my project pages up, including the old poetry page. See the link to projects up there in the header.