Love is like sitting down at your favorite restaurant & eating your favorite meal
Just to walk away from the table with no left overs & wallet feeling smaller based on the bill
Love smells like your favorite desert on Christmas evening when all the presents have opened, yet saddened to have to wait a year for those very moments
Love looks like a family picture on vacation with big bright smiles & hugs that were just frowns & complains of all that’s around, low & above
Love sounds like waves in an ocean or seashells at the beach the closer you get the more intense almost forgetting the sound of peace
Love feels like rolling around in silk sheets that just came from the dryer as you roll around with your eyes closed then open just to notice you never took them out the dryer
Love to me is imaginary a feeling, a smell, taste, sound, or look we want to last forever, yet comes & goes like many of the other emotions we tend to hang on
I find myself attached to a woman in the most peculiar way. I love her, but she’s a fractal scar of a person. She’s been struck by life, but who hasn’t. There’s a quietness I love about her – sheepish to show me what she likes; what music makes her soul breathe, what hobbies make her days feel more fresh.
I like how she makes a bad week into a perfect day, and I like how her by my side is like time standing still; honey in the air.
She drives me mad, but I keep running back to her everytime we argue. When we work together…we work together. I need her and I hope she needs me.
You do things for love that feel unnatural. Money gets spent, trips are traveled, and you don’t know yourself from the man you were first meeting her.
There’s diamonds and there’s rough, and she has a lot of dirt on her…but I don’t mind cleaning.
I love how she feels in my mind, but when we’re silent with one another it’s like a tumor; swelling and cracking my skull. I need her to be a part of my station; she’s the only frequency I want to hear.
The air is warm when she’s near. Not snow, sleet or rain could make me feel differently.
I want a coat made out of her voice. I want to put her smile in my pocket.
We break up and make up and now we’re just…two hearts in limbo.
I gave her all I could, but I’ll scrape the bottom of the barrel for more. I can pull my hair out over you but I’m not tired, and it always grows back.
I love you like I can’t explain. You’re mine, like blood in my body.
I hope I don’t say things in vain, because we’re cogs. We’re designed the same.
I want you to see what I see, and not run away. Every push feels like my soul is being punched.
I need you to heal yourself, so I can be yours.
I do my part, clean shaven and law abiding. The world is scary and I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m trying. I try everyday to keep calm, but you make my emotions curse themselves.
You’re torrential…but you cool me down.
You’re mine. I want you even if it all seems pitch black.
You can be cold, but even a single match can draw heat for two.
Be mine, and open the door for my eternal waiting. A rose sits in my pocket even if I am just bones now.
“What was the worst year
Of your youngest daughter’s life?”
They might tell you age twenty.
Because that’s the year
A bottle of pills
Found their way
To the bottom
Of my stomach.
But that wasn’t
The worst
Of my experiences.
If you asked me
The same question
You’d get a more accurate response.
I’d tell you age seventeen.
The year I lost control
Of my body.
7 times in one night.
I’d tell you of how
To this day
I can still feel
Her hands
Running on my skin
Like knives.
Over and over
7 times
One after the other.
But in my house
We don’t feel trauma.
We hide it.
Bury it.
As far as it can go.
I learned that,
When at age ten
I asked my dad
“Can we tell the police?”
And he scorned
“Of course not.”
“Call we tell the parents?”
“We don’t tell anyone about this.”
“Ever.”
“Well, what do I do then?”
“Forget about it.”
So, I tried.
Believe me, I tried.
With everything I had
I tried to be like them.
I carried shame and avoidance
With me
Like my own children.
For years.
Never letting them out of my sight.
I took them with me
Through assaults,
And broken beer bottles on the floor.
To the tops of mountains,
In oceans, and rivers,
And lakes.
To concerts, and schools, and work.
With friends, family, strangers.
But when I tried
To bury myself
As deep as my traumas
It didn’t work.
I couldn’t breathe.
For some reason,
I am not like them.
I cannot push the pain away.
Maybe it’s because
My senses tell me
I am still there.
How can I avoid
And shame these feelings away
When they refuse to leave my side.
I wish more than anything
To be like them.
To live in avoidance
Like bliss.
To use a substance
To escape yesterday.
There’s an aging letter in the drawer of my nightstand
It lays hiding in plain sight
On top of my grandma’s fake pearls
And papers that were lost on their way somewhere else
It doesn’t call out
Just plain white printer paper
And though I always know it’s there sometimes
I can forget
For long periods
It’s everything and nothing.
It’s worth reading every so often
But I carefully push it back into the blind spot.
Dip it into a bath of negative ions
Nullifying any power it may have
While I continue outside the drawer.
It’s written neatly in someone else’s handwriting.
Although it says everything I needed him to say
In near bullet fashion, the sentences race to their end and stop abruptly.
Then another.
It’s everything I told him in the last chapter.
Hell, I hired the counselor.
It’s deja vu or a face you swear you know.
And every so often I take it out and gently look over the dictation,
The guided voice and pen.
And it’s just enough doubt
To stay uncertainly searching
Outside of the drawer.
There is that saying how can you love someone if you can’t love yourself?
Then again.
It has me thinking.
I love my family.
My friends.
Inanimate objects.
My creativity.
But at one point I was an afterthought
I spent a good part of my life.
Truly not loving me.
Liking myself never felt honest, real.
Didn’t feel worthy
I never really drew too much stock of the idea of loving me.
And deep within I thought it was just enough.
Going through life. Being just blah
Giving parts to myself, to people.Who I didn’t love.
Just because I could. It was easy
I was doing things just to make others happy.
While It didn’t make me happy.
I lost myself in the process
Once I truly stripped myself down. To the core of me
That’s when I began to accept the fact that it’s OK.
To ask for help.
That. its OK.
To set boundaries.
Learn not to settle.
Be honest with yourself.
My sadness.My darkness.My Scars
The hopes I have.
The wanderlust of my mind.
Fully understanding of who I am
I began to love everything that is me
I begin to see this light that I dimmed down for so long
Then the realization hits that loving yourself is one of the best feelings in the world.
From now until when my time is up
I will always love me.
In this vast world, there is a place for all things:
for the dew that kisses the morning grass,
for the sun that dances through trembling leaves,
but the corner where you dwell
That is the only haven I desire.
When my gaze falls upon you, time does not halt,
but rather it gifts me stolen moments:
a sigh that lingers in the folds of memory,
a quiet conviction that love
is no mere folly of the heart.
You are the breeze that whispers through the orchards,
gentle yet unyielding,
capable of stirring the stillness,
of awakening the dormant chords of my soul.
When you speak, it is not your words alone I hear,
but the resonance of something eternal,
a name I have always known but never uttered.
I have wandered the shadowed paths of solitude,
where light seemed but a distant tale.
And then you arrived,
not as a tempest that tears through the sky,
but as the first star piercing the velvet night
subtle, yet wholly undeniable.
Loving you is not merely desire;
it is the tender anticipation of your footsteps drawing near,
the quiet reverence of your hand brushing mine,
not to claim,
but to remind me I am seen,
cherished, beyond the fleeting moments of this world.
There are days when life falters,
when the grey of existence swallows the horizon whole.
But in you, I have found solace:
a sanctuary where even the fiercest storms
cannot breach the walls we have built together.
How does one describe eyes that are more than colour?
They are a language unspoken but understood,
a vow of mornings yet to come,
a verse that needs no ink,
for living it is poetry enough.
Love with you is not perfection.
It is laughter in the wake of folly,
forgiveness given freely,
the warmth of a glance that says,
“Though the world may crumble, I will remain.”
And so, though seasons may shift,
though fate may conspire to test our resolve,
I choose you, endlessly.
For love is not the journey’s end
It is the reason the path is worth treading.
An icy june in the tropicals
A season of brown savnnah
When the temperature in our land sets low
And the struggles of life rise high
This is when I choose us, I choose us over the rest
In the corridors of the hospital
With burning smells of disinfection
In air filled with high hopes
This is where I want us
A pair of us saving lives
Back on the beautiful bed we share
Lying exhausted side to side
As tired as giant armadilos
After a long day of fighting Azrel
Is the life I pray for us.
Above all, and above every one
Above the famous nosocomial joke
I choose to be with you
For this is my life, and I made my choice
And I choose us.
No one knows how it started or came to be
None matter now
Snowflakes of disease
Fall from the infested clouds
And grow small flowers of illness
Young lady and younger dog
Pink leash matched with a pink coat
They play happily in the snow
Tomorrow’s moon marks day 3
Death’s sickle sounds soft in fresh snow
Fenced within the forest
The two do not mind
They continue to run and laugh and speak to each other
Like none other was there
The scientists and beings of medicine watch the pair
Learning the virus’ pattern
They play
Grow tired
Collapse
And play again
Two coffins wait for their arrival
Yet, morrow’s sun rises
Lass and Lassie have long gone
Fence intact and footsteps snowed over
Their cadaver’s were never found
Forest hand picked apart
And home searched over and over
The two must be happy together alone
Ancient sickle has frozen over it seems
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