by Joyce James
I asked that you love me, bring me red roses and sun flowers.
I asked that you write me cute notes and messages expressing your feelings towards me.
I asked that you take me out to see the world,
a stroll by the beach,
with our hands clasped into each other.
I asked that you occasionally remind me of how beautiful I am.
I asked that you talk about me to your friends, show the world how much you love me.
I asked that you surprise call me,
Tell me you are at my door,
Waiting for me with a cone of ice-cream and a single rose flower petal,
Night drive round in the city,
With our hands in the air,
Singing on top of our voices to our favorite song.
I asked that whenever I felt insecure about my body, you will be the first person to remind me of
how beautiful I am.
I asked that on nights where I was afraid and uncertain about the future; you will remind me that
you are with me.
I asked that you learn to get to know more about my body, what makes me comfortable, and
please me accordingly.
I asked that you will be my strength, when I’m weak, my voice when I’m feeble.
I asked. But I guess they were too much to ask
or did I ask wrongly?