the little things we long

suffering
alone in the vacancy of my desires
i realized what must transpire
for a million other souls out there—
as they pine, just like me.
waiting, wanting to believe
in themselves, and to be free

to express
to confess
creatively
passionately
unapologetically
naturally
perfectly—

with unrefined whimsy,
the yen of every want
that haunts them;
the ghosts of our dreams

to dance
to sing
to romance
and entrance
with words
which might otherwise

facilely fulfill
these little things
we long for.

in the beginning .00 daily archives

l.m