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Unacknowledged
Unacknowledged
Appreciative am I, of you telling me you have feelings for someone that exceeds your feelings for me.
l am to be reminded that it is desire you feel for me, not the burn of love.
You hide my existence, because the loss of me you can afford.
You are willing to let me go, but fear the departure of those I know of, that are known to your world.
I am a most unfortunate of players.
So gilded in my desire for you, I gamble away my restiveness.
I gamble with the shine of my heart, to blind you against others shimmering past you, coming back to haunt you, revealing a resolve, you need to dissolve, displaying a laissez-faire for my affairs.
“I’ll have to deal with that if you go,” not the answer I hoped to hear.
I’m not leaving you, but forced to leave by the back door I frequent.
Years upon the years, creating a still life of my own design, desired and deigned a floor plan of my heart, that which of, you have no part, but one day I’ll deal with it, if you wish to part.
Yet, while I am no-where near you, why the connective tissue?
The need to tell me your heart is trying a turn around an old flame.
Seeing if the scorching is worth the heat.
The crazy toxicity of a suspicious candle, flaring in perceived and justifiable terror.
You can’t be the both.
You can’t seek, with a storeroom of extra supplies, while the main room fines and dines on caviar, champagne, and diamonds.
I’ve built a house of back doors.
Always the secret, secret, secrets.
I won’t unclothe for you my crystallized desire, it’s gelds the lesser beings of the highest caliber, of which you are not.
Deserve you, I don’t .
I crave the time I am the acknowledged woman.
