Ain't That Unusual?

I’m almost never serious, and I’m always too serious. Too deep, too shallow. Too sensitive, too cold hearted. I’m like a collection of paradoxes.

I sometimes feel like my abuse isn’t Official Real Abuse

The truth is, I pretend to be a cynic, but I am really a dreamer who is terrified of wanting something she may never get.

I want your Monday morning sleep soaked eyes dream drenched voice, lazy bones ‘five more minutes please babe.’ I want your Tuesday afternoon coffee break, glasses off, laughter on ‘just hold me for a while it’s been a hard day.’ I want your Wednesday evening fingers through hair teeth nibbling nails neck craning, eye glazing ‘this paperwork never ends’ I want your Thursday night drinks for two bones unbind muscles let loose flats, slacks, ‘just me and you’ I want your finally Friday stretch soul smile, sun sipping light from the glaciers in your eyes fingers unfurl, hand extends ‘c’mon babe, lets go wild’ I want your weekend. your movie marathon Saturday reading by the fireplace kissing in the blankets want your Sunday morning orange juice and pancakes white sheets, tender skin hair like the Fourth of July ‘let’s not get out of bed today.’ I want your ordinary and your stress, rest, release I want your bad day and that terrible night I want you drunk in my arms forgetting the place but never my name I want your lazy and your lonely and your fist full of fight I want you everyday in every way for the rest of my life.