Waiting on Shelly

For years I'd been told my waiting was wasted
on time that could've been used for anything but,
so I took to their chiding and sought out a hole
betwixt all my barriers to set out to frightful
territories botched and littered with bottles,
hopeful and happy to have learned what I learned.

But there in the dankness that stuck to my throat,
buried in dark which hid all my features,
I had none to offer all the prettiest maidens
who sought but a drink and mild conversation.
Some gave me promise to make contact in days,
but no one came through and how could I blame them?
So I turned into trash that blew into corners,
and gripped on the glass to drink from and smoke.
Then came a moment of abrupt realization,
and I looked all around to those called my peers;
realized that I had nothing to give them,
and set down my drink to walk out the door.

Now I am simply waiting on Shelly
to arrive or to form or be born from my heart.
And when she arrives she'll never depart,
because she'll find center at best within me.
She'll teach me to see the good I've in stock
and show me the new and novel and bright.
I'll rely upon her, she'll rely upon me
to bring about something amounting to joy,
setting aside all beasts of our burdens,
lost in the throes of our bond and our loving.

And say what you will, she may not exist,
but the time I've spent waiting is for all the best.
The people I've met have all disregards
for me and my type and my way and my being.
But Shelly will see, if she's ever in town,
the shining in me and the love I have gathered,
only for her and the tips of her fingers,
down to each pressing and pumping of hearts.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Hello if you're out there.

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