Musings by The Poet Loriet
Lonestar
Do you ever get lonely,
a lonely so deep,
so vast it resembles
a deep gnawing pit
down in your stomach?
Tears sting your eyes
and your arms ache.
You need to be held,
to hear another
human voice.
Do you ever get so lonely
you think you won't survive
another night alone?
You want to call someone
and flipping through
your address book,
you realize there's
no one. Hundreds of
phone numbers and not
one you can call.
You would welcome sleep
but it only comes
in sporadic spurts,
then the thoughts start
and the worrying,
the questions without
any answers.
If there was only one person
who could understand who
you are, what your heart wants
in this big impersonal world,
you might be okay.
Your hands roam your body,
a self-love ritual that somehow
mimics being rocked to sleep,
but even shuddering pleasure
won't shatter the restlessness,
just makes you cry harder,
feel more alone than ever.
No, sleep won't claim you.
Alcohol just makes you ill
after the welcoming numb dissipates.
Sleeping pills leave you groggy.
In desperation, you call an old lover,
don't know what you will say,
"Hold me. Talk to me.
Please, baby. I need you,"
but his phone rings and rings
and you immediately get anxious
over him looking at his caller i.d.
the morning after.
"Did you call me? Why?!"
Then, you're left feeling like a fool
as you fold yourself into fetal position,
hug your damn cotton pillows
and rock back and forth to
the rhythm of your sobs.
Am I the only person whose heart
aches and twists and bleeds and
turns into a selfish greedy brat
in the never-ending blackness?
I writhe and hurt and grieve
until exhaustion releases me
into a state of altered
consciousness.
I just want someone to hold me,
run their fingers through my hair
and tell me it will be okay.
It's going to be okay.
You're not alone.
Lori Beal
a lonely so deep,
so vast it resembles
a deep gnawing pit
down in your stomach?
Tears sting your eyes
and your arms ache.
You need to be held,
to hear another
human voice.
Do you ever get so lonely
you think you won't survive
another night alone?
You want to call someone
and flipping through
your address book,
you realize there's
no one. Hundreds of
phone numbers and not
one you can call.
You would welcome sleep
but it only comes
in sporadic spurts,
then the thoughts start
and the worrying,
the questions without
any answers.
If there was only one person
who could understand who
you are, what your heart wants
in this big impersonal world,
you might be okay.
Your hands roam your body,
a self-love ritual that somehow
mimics being rocked to sleep,
but even shuddering pleasure
won't shatter the restlessness,
just makes you cry harder,
feel more alone than ever.
No, sleep won't claim you.
Alcohol just makes you ill
after the welcoming numb dissipates.
Sleeping pills leave you groggy.
In desperation, you call an old lover,
don't know what you will say,
"Hold me. Talk to me.
Please, baby. I need you,"
but his phone rings and rings
and you immediately get anxious
over him looking at his caller i.d.
the morning after.
"Did you call me? Why?!"
Then, you're left feeling like a fool
as you fold yourself into fetal position,
hug your damn cotton pillows
and rock back and forth to
the rhythm of your sobs.
Am I the only person whose heart
aches and twists and bleeds and
turns into a selfish greedy brat
in the never-ending blackness?
I writhe and hurt and grieve
until exhaustion releases me
into a state of altered
consciousness.
I just want someone to hold me,
run their fingers through my hair
and tell me it will be okay.
It's going to be okay.
You're not alone.
Lori Beal
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