pine (a poem).
My heart pounds, in the open cage of your hands.
I blossom, flaming bright.
I ache in places I cannot reach.
I am hot to the touch, you say.
But so cold inside, I think.
Under the cover of night, I whisper.
I fill myself with convictions bright and false.
I think, I will not allow myself to be this girl.
To feel this way.
The stars know better.
