beneath the beautiful face, the contact, the connection
there is pain and doubt
which way does the doubt see
and does the doubt doubt me?
looking out from my own eyes
i wonder within
which parts are most me.
the confidence, the humor, the wit,
the smiles and laughter?
the one who was wholesome
but still wanting in pure devotion?
she wanted to be devoted to herself
and to be only in union
with what grew her.
the me who drives away crumpled
is deflated by your pain and doubt
realizes again that maybe,
however good anything may be,
there is no sure thing.
but i still want to believe
there can be a space of good,
stimulation, mutual growth,
and truth.
yet no union of two beings
is ultimately up to me.
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