Safe Space

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I lay in bed sometimes and stare at the ceiling 

For no particular reason 

I’m just bored 

My tv’s on, Netflix playing in the background but I’m not paying attention

I’m too preoccupied with distant thoughts 

Thoughts of what I could be doing instead of just laying here

But I don’t budge 

Why should I?

I’m quite comfortable 

But then I get that text 

He begs me to come out because he misses my lips 

Both sets 

But I’d hate to leave my place 

I’ve already made an imprint 

I wouldn’t dare move now 

So I don’t reply 

“You’re busy, he’ll understand,” I tell myself 

But as I lay there, the warmth of my bed grows cold 

I’m not enough to keep it heated 

The ceiling begins to cave in and my hearts grows heavy 

And I feel it 

He hates me 

But how do I explain?

How do I tell him that I’m too afraid to leave?

That my bed is my safe space and I’m just not brave enough to leave it 

How do I tell him how agonizing it is to walk through crowds of glaring eyes and mouths full of ammunition?

How do I tell him that even though he’ll be waiting at the end of the tunnel, I’m still afraid of the dark?

I can’t 

I can’t tell him 

I keep him at a distance 

I let him close enough to touch me but not close enough to touch me 

I don’t mind touch, in fact, I love it

I love the feel of skin 

But I hate, I hate being touched 

Because I’m fragile

Like glass 

And my bed is bubble wrap 

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