What Is It to Love?

I used to find great magic in the world of the ordinary turned to extraordinary

angels with wings in broad daylight

Entire futures laid out like maps in people’s eyes

The absurdity of forever expressed in eight letters

Now I wonder how long the stitches I haphazardly sew myself back together with will last

Sadistic constellations on my skin

Memories of late night words whispered half awake

Contentment in living amongst the shadows

I am alone has eight letters too anyways so what’s the difference

There is still a faint tattoo of always on my heart

My pulse beats violently in my throat each time

I think about those two missing letters

Because you were a romantic illusionist in putting me back together

Maybe it wasn’t you that tore us to pieces

Perhaps instead it was two missing letters for myself

Ink stains turn to bloodstains as I wonder

I still pour my soul out on paper but sometimes I’m careless

The spills look like taunting hearts

Reminding me of how much of mine you still carry

How many times can you metaphorically bleed before it’s real

Might we attempt to make a patchwork quilt of me instead

Create something not quite human but still whole

An emblem for their pain I’ve endured and the trials I face

It would be just a love letter to myself this year

Expressions of emotion either come far too easily or completely silently to me

Jeopardizing my hopes and multiplying my fears

If I still carry their weight of your heart with me, could I someday give it back in exchange for mine?

Happy Valentine’s Day

Otherwise known as

I love you I love you I love you;




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