Desperation

Yes I am desperate. I am desperate to be understood and to be embraced in a way that is different. Not tight, or loving, or warmth. Just different.  Something like trembling hands that curl around the small of my back, afraid to touch me, afraid of breaking me. But at the same time he knows I’m not some fragile thing always kept at the back of a glass case. He knows that.

I am dying to be seen. To be seen with eyes that are terrified of what they behold and hungry like a blind beast experiencing Technicolor for the first time in a lifetime. I will gladly be a feast for starved irises and hands that feel every contour, map every crevice I have to offer inside and out. I want to be felt differently. Something unlike friendly gestures and familial hugs. I want to be your object of desire and a cuddle buddy in bed. Believe me there is nothing better than being under the covers with someone’s hands holding your own, listening to each other’s heartbeats. This is my way of love.

 My dogs taught me to love.  My stomach and thighs were their pillows under the stars in the garden and they are my blanket of warmth. So trust me when I say you should raise a dog as your own because that love you receive is exactly what love should feel like; endearingly annoying, cute as hell, and tackled in hugs every time you walk through the door.

Yes I am desperate. I am yearning to be loved in a different way because my heart can’t take it anymore. It can’t bear all these words I’m pouring out to you and to everyone and instead it wants to be touched. Grazed by feathers and husky breaths, looking into the most gorgeous eyes I have ever seen. I want that. I just want someone who can challenge me and everything I believe. I want to be scared and hold his hand because I’m afraid of messing it up. I want him to hear my shivering voice as I read my poetry to him while he cups my face and kisses me as the sun rises. I want to feel his stubble stretching from his sideburns down to his chinny chin-chin because I love to explore his rough edges. Feel his voice resonate through his body while I slowly fall asleep in his arms, on his chest, under threadbare sheets. Threadbare because I’m lucky enough to have him and my dogs to keep me warm.

Yes I am desperate. Desperate to be romanticised and turned into poetry as I do right now. Desperate to love in everything.

 To be loved despite everything.

 

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