Us Poem by Tessa Eichhorst

There is a game that is always played; someone is always waiting for a check-mate. Never to good have I been at this, usually I'm stricken, smitten, with a kiss. Too much time and energy does it take to make you see I would be a great mate. While we move one step forward, two steps back-I plant firmly on the ground trying not to snap.

Too little of trust I will exude, I sit here alone in this pale grey hue, standing still, not budging back, you leave me with no choice but to fall flat. Unsure anymore of what to do, I sit here waiting for your next moves. The risk and the gambles one person may take can either pay off or feel fake.

A little more time I tell myself as you are shy and look scared as hell. The days move on, moments pass slow, I look to you for which way to go. Unable to make any moves, as stale mate it has become, but I can no longer stand still and be the broken one.