“to my first love, this is for my first love”
i want to be known.
i am a woman with little reputation, unclean, shamed, used and abused; an outcast, a failure, a disappointment.
a sinner.
i want someone to look at my face and not just see two eyes, a nose, a mouth and two ears.
but to see all that i am and could be; to see all my hopes, loves and fears.
but that’s too much to wish for, to hope for, to dream for, to pray for.
so i don’t. not anymore.
as for now, i keep to myself.
by that i mean the pain that keeps me in my own, private jail.
the pain that’s brought me here.
but you … you tore those bars apart and brought me out.
to show me what the real world’s all about.
showed me that fear is not the answer,
and i love you for that, not just cus you’re a dancer-
but cus you’re a man of distinction, one that brings the best out of me.
although you whisper in my face,
you take the time to really look at me - to get to know me.
cus to be known is to be loved and to be loved is to be known.
and you know me. you actually know me.
all of me and everything about me: my thoughts, my dreams, my hopes.
every hair on top of my head, every hurt stored up, every hope, every dread.
my past and my future, you know me.
you tell me what i am and what i could be.
you tell me everything.
you tell me … about me.
