We called it intimacy.
Rejected by the deepest parts of me.
Your eyes missed mine as we tried to climb the grape vine that grew from the family tree.
We called it intimacy.
Communicatively free yet unable to see the WE that I had accepted us to be. Unable to see the perfection that you meant to me.
Overwhelmed by feelings of inadequacy. Disgusted by your perception of me.
Who knew the stakes were existential misery. Who knew you would cling to me like saran wrap on a warm cup of tea. Embraced by destiny, rejected by the rest of me.
You got the best of me, left a mess of me. Maybe we were never free.
About the Creator
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