i pull a blanket over your body,

curled in the fetal position,

and i wonder what i could do to make you stay,

i’ve never had a place to lay my things down,

my muscles are tense,

my skin calloused,

i do what i can,

but it’s hard to appreciate any softness in me when all it ever does is drive people away,

you clutch the blanket to your chest and stretch your legs to the full length of the couch,

the tea kettle comes to a quiet boil, the steam wafting up to my cracked ceiling,

life is meant to be lived, after-all.