God, I love you.
To the Moon and back,
Around the world a million times,
And as deep as the blackest Oceans.
I am so free with you,
That I'm almost afraid to accept this feeling.
I've never met someone,
That is so content to just,
Let me be.
I'm sorry if I don't understand sometimes.
I am foreign to these lands.
Where I come from,
The people are decent and kind.
I couldn't bring myself to believe,
The cruelty that people perform,
In the name of vanity,
Disguised as Love.
What lives do we live,
When little makes sense?
And we expect you to mind read,
Without judging us?
About the Creator
Camilla Siig
Curiosities: an exploration of the relationship between The World and my Inner World.
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Clinging to Childhood
The playground is empty, as it should be past sundown. There is a warm breeze, and I can see everything despite the late hour. What time is it, anyway? It could very well be past midnight. I can never keep track of time, especially in the summer. A prickly piece of popcorn hides like a stowaway in the left cup of my padded training bra. I stuffed the tissue in last minute— a decision I’m beginning to regret, based on the events that are unfolding rapidly before me. To my left, laying non-chalantly on his back, is my date for the evening. He is two years older, could probably grow facial hair if he wanted to, and drives a secondhand Honda. He may as well be a Man. I, on the other hand, feel like a fraud with my too-short short-shorts, sparkly lip gloss, and makeshift push-up bra. I keep my arms pinned to my sides as I feel the dreaded circles of sweat beginning to manifest on my brand new Abercrombie top. I cup my elbows with my hands and stare down at my hint of cleavage, praying that the tissue doesn’t pop out like a white flag surrendouring my lack of womanhood.
By Marti Maley6 days ago in Fiction
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