You are in the deepest pit

of my being like the roots of grass that

hold us all while begging

to be stepped on.

Why must I fill in the blanks

between our hearts beating,

a confession, and

the dead of night?

A flutter of butterflies,

squirming and bursting throughout

the pillars within me.

The shackles of my being.

My bones — yearning for you to enter in

to the furthest corners of my mind.

The places where I am most alone.

I wait for you to tell me that

you want to stay.

You wait for me to show you that

I care. Well, you’ve seen me.

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Introspect

Introspect

A counselor writing about the human condition.