My Other

September 7, 2013 by Aspergers Girls 4 Comments

Where am I?
I knock at your closed door.
Am I found in the shadows you cast out?
Am I your lips that move in tenderness?
Am I the world, itself, spinning without pause?
Am I your casual gait moving ‘cross the plains of my awareness?
Or am I this echo that beams and bounces out of you, into the cavernous wake I be?
Where am I?

I knock again, upon your sleeping soul.
Am I but this longing?
A kneeling at your entrance craving to be carved into the grace of your being.
Wishing to be a part of this enticing imperfection.
To be that ever-flowing voice beneath the rivers cascading through you.
Pounding , pounding, pounding against the rocks of denial and destitute.
To be part of the stream of consciousness, you name doubt and confusion.
A part of the salve, of your choice and doing, lathered upon you, sweet comfort devoured,
As honey to the bashful bear.

Oh how I wish to find you there in the opening of vulnerability,
And sway to the tears of your coming.
To be that which you scream out for—the guardian, the angel, the attendant to your qualms.
To caress your aches fully, and salvage every part of you dismissed and excluded.
Each outstretched avenue, previously tossed and forgotten, journeyed.

I want to be.
Your frailty.
Your outpour.
The act of you bending in demand of rescue.
I want to be that which you reach out for in desperate isolation and cling to.
I want to hold you in the cradling of my heart, until we are one.

Where am I?
I am here,
Standing at your threshold, the blank canvas cleansed,
Ready to be painted with the richness of your surrender.