It's A Shame I'm A Dream

I’m sorry for hiding you When I saw your stretch marks How could I be so ashamed Of something That meant I was growing I’m sorry for depriving you Because of a number on a scale A number that could never Measure my worth I’m sorry for hating you While you made sure My heart kept beating And my lungs kept breathing And my legs kept bringing me To where I was meant to be I’m sorry for tearing you down As if you were a vacant building That my soul didn’t live in I didn’t realize That you were my home

When you can tell your story and it doesn’t make you cry, that’s when you know you’ve healed.

How would I wake you, if you were here with me now? A kiss on the shoulder, a whisper in your ear, fingertips grazing along the smooth skin of your back? Or should I leave you to your rest? How cruel of me, perhaps, to assume that you might want to be roused from sleep by a hand rising along the curve of your hip, a gentle tug of that blanket down, down, a tease of a tongue along the length of your thigh. Perhaps I should leave you to your dreams…or perhaps I should bring you slowly into mine. Or perhaps I should just say Goodnight. Sweet dreams and I will always love you.