my turn, my turn
when is it my turn to cry
in someone’s arms, quiet around
just us and the breathing sound

when is it my turn
to know they’re standing behind
when i stagger towards the light
bound in silence, unending fight

when is it my turn
to forge memories brighter than gold
with only one other mortal being
intertwined, connected, so freeing

when is it my turn
to lay upon my melancholy dreams
knowing that another fleeting star
sleeps with the future that we are

when, when, when
why, why, why
can’t it ever be my turn?
i want it to be my turn.

Photo: pasja1000 on