Every night I lay my head
Upon my soft by lonesome bed
I dream of making love to you
And hope that it will soon come true.

I need to know your inner heart
Of all your plans to be apart.
I need you so I want you so
I’m always trying to let you know
How much it hurts in every way
To be put off from day to day.

What are you, are you made of steel?
Why is it you cannot feel
The warmth the need the urgency
The passion you create in me

Playing games not for real
Teasing will not fulfill
Enjoy the sport but not the score
To be admired but nothing more.

Who pays with fire will surely be burned
There is no hate like love that’s spurned.
There is no pleasure, joy, or thrill
Like tender love that is fulfilled.

What and if you reach for your lover
And they recoiled at your touch
When you were wanting her oh so much.

She freely gave for others pleasure
But not for you just to treasure.

Think it over carefully.

This poem was originally published in our November 2019 issue.

Skinny (also known by her birth name of Michelle Spearman) was a beloved unhoused community member who lived in Oakland, and a founding member of the 37MLK encampment community. She died in April, 2021 at the age of 61. May this poem preserve her voice in our pages and beyond.