Now I’m afraid of when to say what, feel like every thought should be weighed on a scale, resistant to share them with the real world, and especially with those I have feelings for. I keep hope in a bottle, stowed away in a case, drink its foreign liquid, and rely on its promise to keep me level-headed, resistant to squander, sabotage, enflame.

I walk along shaky, fragile ground, as I strive to believe someone will get me, I mean, isn’t that what I write all about? The yearning for understanding my depths, a hoped for intrigue, curiosity by the one whose heart is in my own; just as I am a perpetual seeker of who they really are.

I guess time will tell, as I write these words, seek understanding in my own way, and if someone stays, let them stay, as we search souls through eye gazes and touch enduring, speak words as they flow, unafraid of the prospect that they could mean ‘leaving’. Just stay, let’s push past the walls and the pain, disregarding the norms of society; rejecting the trend to hide and flee, sustaining the soul that brings two together.

Emily Cloward © 2018

10 Comments Add yours

  1. Reblogged this on The Melancholy Spitfire and commented:

    For those afraid of being who they really are.


  2. Very beautiful and heartfelt words.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. bluerooster says:

    to speak words as they flow – such a beautiful thought

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you, I appreciate your thoughts.


  4. hupsutupsu says:

    hope, yes hope. sometimes so far, sometimes near enough to use as medicine…

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I like how you worded that. It is medicine.


  5. It’s the irony of the human condition; we all want to be understand and many of us feel like we never will be. Wonderfully written!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you, Chela. The other irony is not providing understanding when we so want to be understood. It is all so complex.

      Liked by 1 person

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