Hibernation of the Girl
I'm sick of all of this. I'm sick of you.
that my fingers
no longer wished to stroke you're face.
I live in a tomb when I'm here
on the collective memories of this sweet feeling.
I'm dizzy with all of these choices.
I've clung to you for years
a child with unprotected sense.
Never mind that I became yours, body and soul.
My walls have struck back up again
plastered of stone and metal
to keep you
(the sweet boy who became a monster) out.
He says that I'm being ridicules,
that I'm still his spit fire angel
his poet writing, soul reading girl.
not when I feel like this, alone on the top stair
watching him through the doorway
loving another girl.