Craving connection but not understanding its meaning
Latching onto another for physical reprieve but left hollow and emotionless, my soul careening
You seek my body while I crave your soul and I'm left feeling worthless and alone.
I crave a connection with my soulmate, my love, but never seem to find him amidst all the lust.
How do you touch me, caress me, control my body but never... Not once do you see me beyond my surface superficial self.
Do you know me? Do you see me? Do you even care?
I crave a connection with you that my soul fails to ignite...behind your walls, I dare not go, and behind my walls, I dare not show
Overshadowed with fear, with cravings ignored, my soul shrivels from lack of connection to the one that makes my soul soar.
You don't know me...You don't see me... You don't even care
I'm just a girl whose body you were willing to share.
About the Creator
Edkesha Anderson
A public admin doctoral student that freelances by night. Writing has always been a part of my life but I've only recently started to take it seriously. I write grants, research, and poetry. Hopefully, I will also add travel to the list.
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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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