Lies of Perfection
in the night, he reaches, my body responds, aching to be near
yet the mind screams, pulls back inside its deep recesses
familiar pain rears, sits nonchalantly, laughing, taunting me
is it I who am loved or am I just involved in the act of love
the end justifying the means, a single moment, a brief interlude
conveniently remembered and enacted, how can one truly tell?
I opened my heart and yet I know, I'm not what he was looking for
the knowledge leaves me cold and saddened, ice forming around my core
rejection, inferiority, second best, all words that accurately describe
yet leave no telltale signs of the great pain that they have inflicted
reality and yet my hands roam freely his body as I welcome him inside
to lie buried deep within my being, my heart beating furiously
the sheer joy of being loved blocking out the fear, feeding on hope
even if his emotions are not real, every fibre of my being yearns
to one day capture all his love, to see it expressed in his eyes
to silently carve my essence indelibly upon his heart,
to feel it in his smiles warmth, as his eyes adore each curve
the knowledge that says you are mine and I will love you always
everyone wants perfection, those that know that they are not
nor ever will be the one, suffer from the lies of perfection
so here I lie, accepting the very little that is being offered
praying to someday find more, existing in that in between world
between shadow and light, where nothing is clear, everything is shaded
needing to be perfection to someone, as I breathe deeply with eyes drifting into
my dreams, helplessly staring across the bed of my future
Copyright © Bernadette Langer | Year Posted 2006
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