for some, there are truly empty spaces,
truly. For others, there are no empty spaces,
just unfulfilled promises and unsatisfied desires,
coupled by under attention fed by deficient affections
and what was once love- trailing as crumbs;
trailing and whirling. Crumbs and more crumbs,
trailing and whirling to form voids that feel like empty spaces.
“synthetic” – new age love
Redder lips, higher heels,
Synthetic weaves, tighter jeans
I want you to love me,
but you will love the higher,
the redder and the tighter
I know that you will not love not me.
Like sand running down in an hour glass
Right through your heart, through your fingers,
You let me slip like grains of sand,
Down to the earth from whence I came.
Still, I breathe. Still I breathe.
©Moraa Ong'angi 2013
Moraa can be found on Twitter @OneMoreDaisy and her blog One More Daisy
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