Locked

I have run out of things to say,
I'm afraid I wont be able to convince you to stay.
You desire warmth - you'd find none here,
All I have is this cold exterior and my mismatched ears.
My temperamental arms are where you'd find no comfort,
I'm afraid that in terms of affection I'll always come up short.
I'd beg you to stay if I thought I could keep you.

My mouth is stuck in the endless form of an 'o',
Not emitting any sound, just watching as you go.
My arms came up short when you beckoned for an embrace,
My hands stuttered as you placed them on your face.
You begged me to feel, my heart refused,
No matter what happened, I always stayed mute.
I'd reach for you if I thought my arms were short enough.

It is no surprise when you admit defeat,
But at least it was clean, at least it was neat.
Others had fought harder, but as it appears,
The more they fight, the distance is less near.
It seems as if, I'm getting closer to my goal:
To be, completely, hopefully, dreadfully alone.
I'd pull you in if I thought I could stay.

----

It was always my problem, not yours
That when it came to letting people in:
I was only a locked door.

This is what happens when I don't write poetry for three months and then give it a completely random go.

I like it. It just feels a bit weird to be writing again.

I hope you guys like it (:

*Almost directly taken from my deviantart, where this is posted too.*

-Mari.