it stings

i should. i know. it still stings. it hurts. i cry and i still don't know. why i sit to the right and leave you the left spot, even though you are not around. it's like you're not here, when you are here. you ignore the language that reaches out. i crumble with the rejection. am i making you uncomfortable again?

i wish. i know. it still is the same. you thought i'd healed. some stripes never lose their spots. i hate it that i name pillows after you. it's these conversations that i have in my room. they are keeping me up, waking every alternate hour. do i have to do this again?

i fall. i tell tales. inside its a cold dark room. i've been waiting for so long for a father like you. the irony of it lies in your inability to show love, the very nemesis that makes me feel safe without having to look behind my back. but why am i so afraid to ask?

i hide. i play it down. i don't know what to say. or how to begin. where it ends or what i seem to want.

i just need you to take the lead. ask the questions again. open your arms when the sun comes out. nudge me out from behind the shadows. stretch out your hands and give this soul a lift. for i am tired of fighting for attention and grace. just so i can feel like a family again.

it still stings. i hope you'll still be here.