To Be Moved

by | Dec 12, 2020

I am not your babe, that swaddled up thing

That you believe will bring you comfort

when you need, and leave bare when you don’t


A blanket stare,

with the resemblance of a feeling

But, lacking anything to feel or rely on


I know you, this beat underneath the mess

This truth no one else has seemed to find

Somedays I have even called you my own


My breath in each ache,

With no air to my lungs

My chest concaves with the pieces of my heart I kept giving


Alone, I think,

Dry to the touch,

With friends wanting to hold my hand


The world around me slips from focus

Out of view I must move

And yet fully I am present in my own dream’s wake.


For heaven sake

Or the way it stirs

I am ready to be heard