Diamond in the Rough

I am tired

of translating hunger

into softer language

tired of folding myself

into patience

while my needs sit untouched

between us

like unopened letters

I am tired

of reaching first

of asking gently

then clearly

then breaking

when even my breaking

goes unanswered

love should not feel

like standing at a locked door

with bleeding knuckles

hoping someone inside

finally hears me

because somewhere

between the begging

and the silence

I remembered something:

I am the prize.

not a burden to convince

not a body to neglect

not a heart that should have to

perform for tenderness

I want hands that arrive

without hesitation

lips that ache for mine

a love that moves toward me

with certainty

and I am done shrinking

my needs into apologies

just to make someone else

comfortable with giving less

because I am not hard to love

for wanting warmth

for wanting passion

for wanting to feel chosen

without begging for it

and maybe that is the lesson:

that I was never asking for too much

I was just asking

the wrong person

to meet me there

while forgetting

I am the prize

Lady of Shalott (1888) by John William Waterhouse