truth.

 

image © Mariann Martland


There is a longing within. It sits somewhere between desire and pain. 

It dances with me,

Twisting and twirling around the loops of my veins. 

It knows how to pull me into deep despair and then quickly leads me to blackened paradise. 

It grows, quickly, like a seedling reaching for the light,

Touching with hesitance, knowing the fire scolds and scars. 

It grasps at desperation with the intensity of infatuation and lust, 

But holds steady with the commitment a new born brings to living. 

Swiftly, it transforms into melodies of belonging. 

Sitting with ease, yet creeping through blood and bone. 

No release is granted as it makes a home inside the ache, becoming comfort.

It lies dormant, quiet, alone,

Until life and death reignite its insistence to be seen, to be heard. 

It scratches through skin and taps on the windows of my eyes,

Calling, screaming to be realised,

Demanding a moment to be known, to be felt,

To be held.

There is a longing within. It sits somewhere between desire and pain. 

And it is held. 

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