He just wants to be loved.
Surely, you can’t begrudge,
one who only wants to be loved.
Certainly not, begrudge him I do not.
I find I only resent
that I could be the one you choose to circumvent
this terrible affliction known as loneliness.
I just want to be sure; Loved, I can wait.
Surely, he can’t begrudge my resistance.
Certainly, I’m not a coward in life,
only in love.
I rather like the old yearning ballads, the broken-hearted love songs, the baring of the soul.
Each side bumbling about, stripped raw to prove, that age old idea;
Its only you. Only you.
That I could be seeking, reaching for to be
The only one for me.
Soul mates.
Or very much in love.
I don’t pretend to be rational, not me; this silly sod.
I’d like to think; one day all these quirks compile into a semblance of someone to be loved.
Not as a daughter, a niece, cousin, sister, or granddaughter
not as a something or the other either.
But as a wife.
It’s a rather simple word for something that so completely changes ones world.
Ah.
There it is again that little sigh of a pining for that not yet expereinced.
“That! That”, you say
pointing now; disdain creeping in
as you lecture me yet again
“You contradict yourself-
Is there not one who’s willing?”
“Do they not ask? Do they not worry?”
“Why must you be so stubborn?”
“No one’s perfect you know.”
“Is this still not enough for you?”
My lack of trying seems to irritate you.
Why do you care?
You have your one and only, always anytime blissfully united.
So, why start in on me?
Yes, I am stubborn.
Yes, I know no ones perfect, including me.
Yes, It’s not enough for me.
My lack of trying doesn’t irritate me.
The waiting irritates me.
The expectation to simply be picked, irks me.
What’s so wrong with holding out- for the right one, that I can accept without doubt?
Most days I’m content with this singular existence; only myself as my own one and only, always, anytime.
Living here, just me.
vacillating between hyper vigilant discipline and barely contained vivacity;
in my home of many colors.
Singing to myself, exploding into awkward dance, jumping headlong into this space of half realized reality.
Perhaps, I meant to be a little crazy for a while.
late nights, awkward social situations, spontaneous dancing, performing pitches for an invisible audience.
Perhaps its okay; to clearly be cosplaying a consistently disciplined adult.
Perhaps one day I’ll be
a one and only, always, anytime.
I’ll stay hidden for now.
See you around.
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