Again I find myself wrapped tight.
Like a fist, holding only my desperation,
My heart folded in upon itself.
My soul throws up questions
Not in open curiosity, but as a defense.
Fearful of my own foolishness,
I choose to turn away, rather than toward,
And ask for assurances before I yield to trust.
Perhaps it is the sensible thing to do.
Perhaps I can blame the world’s abuses,
As my reason to curl small
Around my own emptiness.
You say you love me …
And you do.
As soon as I release myself enough to notice
A soft breeze
A friend’s smile
You always do.