Trust My Love
Written by
Julie Smallsreed
November 2019
Written by
Julie Smallsreed
November 2019

Future doesn’t reveal itself to just anyone--

we are resigned to our side of the curtain

while we hope, plead, creep at the edge,

thirsty for a peek to see that we’re alive

and happy and successful.


Future is stingy, keeps his hems close and pulled tight

like rich lady surrounded by poor, chin high.

Future condescends: “Trust, babe, you’ll see”

You plead to me: “Trust, my love”

I want to, I’m trying to,

but anxiety fiends are loud and demanding and rude.


Future knows, fiends pretend to know--

both taunt at the parts you never know about

until you’re in the absolute thick.


Fiends are the hyenas nipping at my feet,

Yipping and laughing as they watch me squirm--

Future sits back... “It’s all I can do. Trust, babe.”

I am sick of having nips and scrapes from the spineless

pack, while I fight toward something

I can only assume is there.


One word from you and sky is clear-- spineless creatures

cling to the shadows at the sight

of you. 



Words feel right out of your mouth--

“Trust, my love.” Trust my love.

I can trust our love.


We’re pure fucking gold,

Not easily tainted.

We’ve been burned, boiled, and heated to the point

Of cracking, and we’ve survived,

and we’re beautiful.

You don’t care about Future, hems, fiends, scrapes--

You care about me,

and that’s enough.

Let's be friends

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