Monday, October 15, 2012

I'm just here

Oscar Wilde said all art is useless. I think it's only useless when I don't see your face in it anymore. Self portrait, 2011.

For even in your lukewarm words
there I found comfort,
hope, maybe for a tomorrow
that you'll cease not caring,
ignoring my doting

I would look up to the heavens
and there pray for the day,
that one day I'll be good enough
and then I'll close my eyes
imagining you
and I'll plead: love me, love me.

But you don't seem to see
how I hold dear
the slightest heed
the tiniest lead
I embrace myself and make them all big
an inch of nothing
making my soul bleed

In greatest contempt I deny this
for I don't know how long I can stand
the writhing pain of your unfeeling
this neverending duress
this overwhelming sadness
is it madness
to offer myself like this?

I don't mean to scare
I'm not asking why tomorrow? And why not now?
A little ray of light
is all I need in sight
Content, I'll wait
Until your heart allows my love. 

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