Waiting On

Sitting, cold,
alone. Holding a flame
on my own. Was I to blame
for love. Have I tried 
too hard? As I often have
before. I believe in God.
Though rejection makes me
unsure. I never prayed
for love. Though I’ve been told
actions make it so. 
I diverged from the story I was telling.
In wind howling, heart swelling,
I looked, waited, and sat. That idea
should be reflected upon. The small slights
make a difference. 
And it should be noted
what I have done. What I did. 



At this point
you begin trembling, sickly.
Dreading the coming unseen.
What to do.
Who to know.
Damning decisions and sometimes…
making the same mistakes.
At times you laugh.
You stop, then,
you cry.
You find religion but not faith.
nothing matters anymore. 

This is So

I never knew
what it meant
to feel as so.
This is not love. No.
This is not what you feel
when you love.
This is how we feel though.
I never learned or reality,
I found more time to kill.
learning I’m not where I want to be
or where I imagined.
This is my revelation.
As I may have imagined.
I’m so tired.
As you must believe.
Love is hard pressed
to not have me leave.
Perhaps I’m  pressed
to not have her go.
Save me please.
This is not a feeling I know.
I wrote poems
that I never read.
I never did.
And my soul hurts.