Eddie
To creep a finger closer,
Longing to touch
The very heart of me
With hateful eyes and looks.
Another spoilt daydream;
A whisper breaks it off,
But if he fell I’d catch him.
Light attracts the moth.
I long for his attention,
I like his repartee,
And this is dehydration,
When he simply blinks at me.
I’m feeling sick but this is how
I let him know what’s wrong.
It’s little more than
Simplicity.
This isn’t where I belong.
What is it that’s wrong with me?
I’m little more than dew.
I rest on wilted grass too soon,
To fade before day’s through.
I try for him, images reflect;
Ones of stress and sorrow
I need for less than what he pulls
I’ll need my limbs for morrow.
I test myself, now and then,
I talk to him when gone.
It’s not so much, but it’s OK
It’s me he relies upon.
Simplicity, it’s not too hard,
This is where I’ll stand.
Yet if he chooses to be a man,
I’ll meet with his demand.
The Eddie by Katalyn Louis Parks, unless otherwise expressly stated, is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
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