Dear Ms. Sugar-Shakes (the woman in my life)

Some nights I just want to crawl back in Grandma’s bed
(like I did as a child)
And feel her fingernails float between my shoulder blades
Itching me comfortable
Then have her snore me to sleep

Some days I feel the urge to pretend I’m ill
To lessen her worries (backwards as that may seem)
To see if she’d still make me soup
And serve it with a spoon that’s small enough to keep me busy
but never able to finish before it gets cold

Though most nights I don’t find my bed till dawn
And when I do manage to get sick
I’m usually too ashamed of the cause to call her up
It’s quite an odd little irony, that I’m almost afraid
of the woman who made the best in this man
That I somewhat shy from the blessing
that first taught me the beauty of words
showed me how to play the piano
and equipped me with a strong understanding of love

And it’s not that I no longer believe she loves me
(I would never question that)
But sometimes I feel like she doesn’t believe that I love her
That’s what makes sleep so hard to find
That’s what scares me (now that I don’t believe in monsters)
And nothing is farther from the truth...
...She’s the reason I go on loving anything at all

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