I'll Not Have

I lie awake well past the clock striking twelve,
well on most nights,
thinking and dreaming of things I’ve not had:
of sensations and words of pure golden love.
Thinking and reaming of things I’ll not have,
being stubborn and controlling, coarse, and unyielding,
utterly lacking in the feminine qualities
that are so endearing to men:
to be petite and silky-smooth, melodiously voiced and delicate,
all the things, which I so rarely allow others to see in me.
And I cry myself to sleep in my most defenseless of fears,
of forever sleeping in my bed alone,
of walking through the world alone,
of laughing and crying -so desperately alone,
of dying, after living my life forever alone;
Alone, solo, isolated, detached,
- lone, lonely, lonesome -
My greatest fear of all.
How it rips through me as I lie in bed,
watching the silvery moon,
watching the stars twinkle as they turn in the sky,
the bright flashes of shooting stars falling to the Earth,
and naught but my pen and paper to share
the wishes I’ve wished, the dreams I’ve dreamed.
As the knife of solitude descends yet deeper into my heart,
I am defenseless to this attack,
vulnerable to the world, though they know it not,
scared of knowing love only in my greatest of dreams,
frightened to be left, alone, without them.
Alone.