hold me, hold me, hold me.
too young for words,
all i know is this feeling,
this ache,
the desperation that builds in my chest
as i beg wordlessly
to be loved —
to be touched, held, comforted
by anyone.
there are two objects of my desire,
two women of which i beg
for their love.
they resemble each other
and oftentimes i reach for the wrong one;
except the wrong one has open arms,
and the right one has scratchy nails
and a scowl.
growing, growing,
i spend more time with
the soft spoken woman
who spends more time laughing
and cuddling us
than she does anything else.
i have two sisters,
much bigger than me,
but they resemble this woman
and when they tickle me,
they giggle too.
by the time i can walk and speak
i am no longer allowed home —
the more serious of these lookalikes
has taken me back,
and i spend more time with her
than i do with the other.
i do not like this arrangement,
and when i go to day care,
i cry.
i have learned mommy and aunt
by now,
and the one i call mommy is mad
when aunt is the one to calm me.
my home is much quieter
now that i have gone with mommy,
and though she and daddy
pay me attention,
i often feel like shivering.
cuddle me,
laugh with me,
love me,
i beg, gibberish.
when i am two,
i discover that feeling —
the ache in my chest that houses
my emotions;
most of all,
my emptiness.
—when i made love tangible, it was stolen.
8/23/17
