The Girl Who
Wake up me,
Me, the girl who people call innocent
Innocent to love but not to books
Books that teach me about geometric angles, use of commas,
But not of comas.
Wake up, I tell myself,
But I am the last to hear the voice
Which calls out to everyone around me
Without my realization.
The calls keep ringing,
Stop taking his words like cough syrup,
The drops are not sweet but do stick
Stick to my thoughts and cloud them like a storm,
Stormy clouds that reach my mind as
My arms extend to guide him
When he is really the one guiding me.
Me, I do not wake up
Until my every move is in the spotlight
With total darkness around me
And then I long for sleep, a long sleep,
And flowered cushions to fall on.
©2013 Christy Birmingham
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