Semicolon;

Anger and indecision sit on my shoulders like plates of armour,but my heart seems to always find a way to smear it's shame on my sleeves- always in semicolons reminding those who look at the skinny kid in all the armour that she still has time to grow- it is still being written.                                                                                                                                             I lay all over my bed, for lack of better words, my dear, I am my bed because I barely ever leave it and when I do it calls my name so I always come back.                                                                                                                              The middle of the nights are the hardest because there's an aching I can't put my finger on and a hole in my heart I could put my finger through. I guess my heart is preparing itself to be crucified for you.     I haven't met you yet but I often imagine what you look like and whether you've seen me or I you, And the tail on the tadpole waits to become a colon to a dialogue both of us will risk falling asleep in first period to continue.                                                                                                                                     I wonder if you like poetry, or if you know of it in depth at all. I wonder if my sleeping schedule is so messed up because you're on the side of the earth I'm supposed to be- and my body is just training to be ready.                                                                                                                                                  Whatever it is my dear- let our story be punctuated with semicolons; the underrated infinity.