a blessing when you can’t fake it (or make it?)
I have been propped up on my toes,
peering over fences
but mostly staring at the peeling paint.
Hoping has become longing.
Wanting has become needing.
I can see love everywhere but here.
There is a naturalness to the way
other people experience their joys
popping up like tender, spring grasses.
The earth, it seems, is always warm
and autumn seedlings break open
and bring life, life, everywhere.
And I chew on my lip
as neighbors roll their eyes at
relationships, children, plans—gifts
I would tear open like a Christmas present.
What riches.
Scatter my heart like a dandelion,
drifting high over these walls
and setting down, gently,
where good things grow.
Contentment and wonder,
surprise and new adventure,
comfort in the hands of those
who know love’s value and love’s cost.
Envy will be blown away by another breeze
and I rest here waiting,
waiting for the blooms.