Writer

I knew what I wanted to be as a teenager, when I grew up. I knew it in Grade One when I wrote my first story.

I wanted to be a writer.

What I did not know than, there is no wanting to be a writer, it is who I am.

***I wrote this while I was writing a journal entry. I had goose bumps when I realized the validity of that statement.****

Him

I see you looking
when you think I am not;
side glances
beneath your lashes.
I see you wanting,
needing the comfort I provide.
Yet I do not know
how to offer it without offense.
I see you needing
the love that I hide
because I am not sure
that what I feel is right.
You appear so strong,
so able.
And I know that you want to appear
as though it is easy.
I know how much you struggle.
I know how much you care.
I know how much you long
for that someone to hold you,
to tell you that things will work themselves out.
I want to be him.
I want to hold you tight.
I want to hold you close……
I want to melt winter’s embrace.
 ©Jay-lyn Doerksen
November 7/17

Making me Yours

You draw a finger along the shape of my cheek,

cupping my face with tender hands

Breathing deeply the scent that I wear

your lips barely touching mine.

I desire, I want, I need.

You back me to the wall, using your presence as a barrier

and I groan with desire.

You capture my mouth in yours, possessing me

claiming what you want, what you desire, what you have earned.

Knees shake unable to support me

as I collapse into your arms.

You carry me forward and drop me on the bed

as I watch from lidded eyes.

There is no explanation required;

as you drop down next to me.

All we have is this time, this now

take me and make me yours.

 

©Jay-lyn Doerksen

March 16/17