He doesn't know me
But I know him
It seems like I know him only too well
his scent
it sends chills down my spine
He doesn't know me
He doesn't know it
But everytime the number 8
Makes an appearance
His is what pops up
He doesn't know me
That at times I daydream
Caught unawares
I create a whirlwind of confusion reaching no finity
He doesn't know it
my pillow and bible
Have become my crutches
Tear stained
Marred with rivers of longing
Piled with questions
The man above me
Seems to give me the solace of his arms
And yet I tire
He doesn't know me
My name
My heritage
My stars
My faults
My sins evil but curved with beauty
they that led to my healing
He doesn't know it
There are times when looking at the sky nicotine above
I curve out his face
Near or far
The same feeling beguilds me
An emptyness that he fails to fill
An emptyness that he fails to secure
Am running with no where to go
Am running with no sense of direction
Am running into your arms
Do you know it
Do you know me now?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem