someone once told me that everyone is worthy and deserving of love

but sometimes it feels like to love me would be like loving a house where no one is home

you bang on the doors and call my name as you peer through the windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of me

but I am like a ghost wandering silently through the hallways, a phantom who refuses to be seen, leaving no trace of where I’ve been, and having no certainty of where I am going

it seems as though to love me is to love the ephemeral mist that drifts above the fields in the morning after it has rained

how can it be anything other than temporary, transitory, fleeting

because I do not have the ability to love the dilapidated old building that houses my spirit and my heart

I have no fondness for the crooked doorways and winding, broken-down staircases that pattern my tired, weary smile that does not reach my eyes

and the echo that reverberates through the air whenever a word is uttered, hanging like a splotch of black paint smeared on a perfectly blank canvas

to love me must be like loving the endlessly undulating waves of the ocean that last no more than a moment before they sink below the surface and disappear

someone once told me that no one is meant to walk through this world alone

but oftentimes I find myself trailing listlessly all by myself along a path, fingers brushing the tips of the blades of grass

and the music set to the beat of my heart is without a companion

 sometimes I remember those words and feel hope flutter in my chest like a bird beginning to stretch its wings

ready to soar to new heights and explore new worlds

but other times my wings are bound and my aspirations die in my throat, never spoken and no longer dreamed

like words balanced on the precipice of a tongue, lined up and ready to be spoken like a row of soldiers never fated to fight in battle

the demons in my mind rear their ugly heads and breathe fiery thoughts of toxic venom that burn holes in my defenses and leave me breathless

my dreams are fraught with nightmares and the sun of my spirit sinks behind tall, ominous clouds

and in the house there is still no answer despite that all the lights are on because I am afraid of the darkness that comes with loneliness.”


4 thoughts on “Love

  1. I need to re-iterate Maya’s comment, you are such a talent! You need to find a publisher if that still happens in this century….


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