come get buried with me

I hate attention and yet I crave human connection. Below the level of the soil. I want to feel roots entangle. Suffocate me with your words. Move me like tectonic plates. I’m sick of walking around on my elbows. While everyone has their heads in the clouds. I’m the carpet under your foot that sticks to your shoe. Drawing water through straws. If I could just get you to rain. Open the safe in your chest. Show you the gold. Speak more about what made the bonfire in your heart and less about the weather. Strip you down to just cells. So I can break you out of one. Give you something that’s real so you can make me feel. I’m tired of planting flowers in fields when eyes can’t look beyond fake lights and fake people. I want to grow trees. Forests of leaves. That blush in the afternoon light. Hold my hand and come get buried with me.

©Gemma Troy Poetry
Gemma Troy3 Comments