Who will love me?
When I am apart from this world
When I stand alone, refusing to be
wrecked by a cellphone superglued to my senses,
application addiction gone awry
When I refuse to partake in modern convention
preferring soft and spiky summer grass between my toes,
humidity sucking sweat to the surface of my skin,
lying upon rocks under thick air,
thick branches bearing bright green canopies,
thousands of thirsty leaves, some yellow and release
reminders that this moment is temporary,
and the Fall will come
Who will love me then?
When I bake appled pies and over-romanticize
the long shadows of autumned evening walks
my season of spiders, ripping through webs
strung out over trails,
boasting my bravery – no more fear of fine-legged friends
just as precious a life, so I give love
I give compassion, knowing these virtues are
given not taken, the cause of the effect,
happiness
Why, then, do I ask for love?
Believing the grasping, the craving
its fulfilment will make me whole, and I
will never want again –
a lie
like salt water quenching thirst
impossible
and possibility
still believed
Who will love me when I am
under a spell of such insanity?
And who will guide me out of this suffering?
Permanently?
The Halfwit Writer 