Just lay me down.
Yes, just let me down gently.
If you could, aim for the bed,
for that’s where I keep my pen
Yes, I see it in your eyes:
You’re going to cut me apart.
So if you have any heart at all,
just do it over there
where the pillows will break my fall
and the ink can help repair–
or at least forget it all
and thus close the open wounds.
Yes, please, I beg of you
to say the words when I’m ready,
when I’m beside my only defense,
when I can let out feelings heavy
that I know will fill me when you’re gone.
Please, go on.
I don’t want you to hold back.
Please do as you wish.
I’ll be fine.
For you’re not the first–
nor will you be the last–
to let me slip through your barely clutched grasp.
Yes, I’ve fallen before,
been let down hard,
been tossed and tattered,
bruised and scarred.
But if you just move back,
move me to the bed,
you won’t need fear hurting me again,
for the blankets and the sheets
and the pages, white and clean,
will serve a buffer,
keep me off the ground,
keep the bruising, well, quite down.
Yes, you’ll have no need to fear
and can promptly leave,
leave a wide-eyed, startled girl,
not a crime scene.
No, just to the bed with me,
and you won’t see me bleed
the red out on the pages–
how it ought to be.
I’ve been inspired by a friend to start putting some of my more creative pieces on here. So here’s the very first one, which just so happens to be a poem I composed in a flash of inspiration at 11 o’clock last night. Hopefully you don’t mind the little break from my rambling opinions.