Other

I struggle to meet his perfection
Midway.
I try to please, I abuse and I exhaust
Myself.
Step on my wings, trample them down
Massacre.
My love is never for his loveliness a-
Match.
All that is left is a desire, a distant
Memory.
Of another pair of hands, softer, forgiving
Merciful.
Betwixt my solitude and my loneliness with him
Melancholy.
Othered by him, loved by him,I only belong to
Me.