Help me not forget who I am…
I long for a more intimate affection,
One that leaves no room for doubt,
But instead I feel no hand.
I see closed eyes when I make love.
I want to be seen.
Even in my faults,
Seen truly and wholeheartedly,
And it be more than enough.
But how can I expect you to see me,
If I can’t even see myself?
Why can’t the brokenness be beautiful?
Instead I am drowning in a bayou of self-hating thoughts and what-ifs.
Because I know,
Closed eyes means closed heart.
I go through lengths to be noticed,
To ignite whatever fire will hold your interest…
And then it leaves me more bitter than vinegar.
Sour to the taste, with a devouring heat that is much too hard to swallow.
There must be more.
I must find myself again,
Or rather the Inner Spirit…
And be content with how the Creator painted this over-feeling, ever chasing, woman of me.