Sweet Girl of My Dreams

-
All I wanna do
is love you,
sweet girl of my dreams.

Not in the storybook way,
with fireworks that fade by morning,
but in the kind of quiet devotion
that leaves no doubt when the smoke clears.

You are the peace I never found
in a thousand sleepless nights,
the one thing my heart recognizes
without second-guessing.

Sweet girl,
I’ve seen enough of this world
to know most things break,
most things lie,
most things leave.
But you—
you feel like the one thing
that could anchor me,
the one thing worth
standing still for.

So I don’t offer perfect.
I don’t offer forever in glittering words.
I offer the truth of me—
raw, flawed, unshaken—
and a love
that will not run.

Sweet girl of my dreams,
let me be the arms you fall into,
even when the world
has nothing else to give.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

If you haven't bought any glassware for your flower

-
Image
Let's face it, there's just something nostalgic about rolling your flower, but sometimes it can be a hassle. For instance, how many times have you gone to the store to buy a wrap, get home, open it up, and that bad boy pretty much turned to dust as soon as you got to breaking it down? You know the second one isn't going to be much better, and if you messed around and got a 5-pack, you're probably stuck trying to piece together enough of the leaves to make a passable blunt, but it was without a lot of effort. Smoking shouldn't be that hard, like, ever and that's one of the reasons you should buy glassware or a pipe. It's way more convenient to just grind up some flower and put it in a bowl than it is to do all that rolling and I know some glass pieces can be very expensive, but if you think about how much money you'll save on rolling papers and stale wraps, you'll realize that a one time purchase can save you hundreds of dollars and the headache of de...
Read more

Before Forty

-
  Before Forty I don’t fear dying.  Not really.  I fear reaching the end  and realizing I never started. I’m 37.  Closer to 40 than I ever meant to be.  Broke.  Bruised.  Built from choices I can’t undo  and dreams I can’t afford to chase. I’ve done things—  real things.  But the world shrugs,  like silence is a verdict  and struggle means failure. Every year feels shorter.  Like time’s picking up speed  just to spite me.  And the mirror—  it doesn’t mock me,  it just waits.  As if even my reflection’s unsure  if I’ll get where I’m going. No trophies.  No applause.  No one keeping score but me.  And I’m tired of pretending the game’s still fair. There’s a shadow  that follows me lately—  not death,  but something quieter.  Like the ghost of the life I thought I’d live,  haunting the one I actually am. Still,  I wake up.  Still write. ...
Read more

Not Her First

-
Image
“Not Her First” by Me, who tried anyway I wasn’t looking for perfect— just someone who saw me before the world had a chance to talk her out of it. I liked her. Not the kind of like you tell your boys about, but the kind that makes you rethink your preferences, your politics, your past just to meet someone where they are. She didn’t ask for that. But I gave it anyway. I wasn’t obsessed. Just… curious. Hopeful. Quietly wondering if maybe, this time, I wouldn’t be an almost. But the silence came anyway— slow at first, then louder than any goodbye. No closure. No reason. Just a slow fade into “seen” messages and the quiet grief of being easy to walk away from. I told her I’d be fine just being friends. And she couldn’t even bother with that. Maybe I wasn’t her first choice. Or second. Or even a passing thought by the end. But I was honest. I was present. I was real. And maybe that’s the saddest part of all— Real never seems to be enough for someone still chasing something shini...
Read more