It’s Not You. It’s Me.
Loving a prisoner
“There is no great Hell than to be a prisoner…”
— Ben Jonson
you’re the one behind bars,
but it’s me who is a prisoner
warm tears kiss my cheeks nightly
because you aren’t here to do just that,
and i hug myself tightly in a tiny ball until i fall asleep
because i crave your touch, your embrace, YOU,
but no one can touch me but you
and i guess now me, too
i await your calls,
no matter how many hours pass me by like clouds on an otherwise clear day,
no matter how many details of my life slip through my fingers as i forget what’s even important anymore by the time you call,
no matter what i could be doing instead of waiting to just hear your goddamn voice,
no matter how much money it costs to even speak to you,
even if it’s just for a few minutes
but you know what?
those two minute phone calls shred my heart to pieces i can’t explain
but only feel,
because it’s a reminder that you’re the one who has to call me,
and no matter what i need to tell you,
i can only wait patiently for you to…
