I want to be the girl you write about
when you’re tired but cannot sleep
because your mind is preoccupied
with thoughts of me.
I want you to write about being in love
with my smile, laugh, and sex appeal
and how it drives you insane.
I want you to write about your past and future
how things have changed for the better
and how, with me,  you want to spend forever.
I want you to write about the things you miss
the most when we’re apart
and how you ache to be together.
I want to know you’re kept up at night writing
about me because I’m your only


Her outstretched hands
ragged and frayed like the clothing on her back
displayed for all who passed in that bustling city center
that slept walking.
Filled with people of other generations
going nowhere fast.
Self-absorbed and oblivious.

But she wasn’t begging for change.
Not the same change as the others.
When they offered nickels and dimes
she turned up her nose and scowled
for she already held something in her tired paws
that was worth much more.

Her heart
faded and worm from all its use
in another time when cities slept
and robots didn’t exist

There she knelt
day after day
night after night
offering the foreign object to anyone willing to show
love or attention.
They remained emotionless.

And life went on in the city