Love poem: This is why

Love poem: This is why

You are, shorter than my father
So maybe our babies
Could be small enough to fit in our pockets
Even when they want to leave the nest
(We won’t let them)

I am, not frail – but delicate
Have cuts all over my legs from traversing the wild hills that scrape the fields you envy when you drive past the street I’m claiming as my own for the evening
I’m alone in my own portal, and I’m trying to show this dog an earthly Heaven
Things don’t go as planned
Born in September, so plans for me are fun to make
And I wildly bake
In the crisp and fallen ashes of a crocodile fire
Lit by a herd of wild animals
That nobody else says were there

Love poem: This is why (continued)

I don’t, behave
On Wednesdays
A childlike ambience to my default state of
Cradling myself in bed and only coming out to feed
I am, unsure of who in my surroundings is fond of me
It’s something I push to the back of my tired brain
Don’t think about it, don’t analyze
This concept has yet to make sense
I do like when I wear a lilac top and these black shorts
To swim through fields of wheat mixed in with golden, sombre flowers
Holding my baby darling like a waterfall
She doesn’t, behave
On Mondays nor Tuesdays

And I
Spilled oat milk
As it reaches my carpet & seeps in between the fabric
I lay on the ground
Thinking of how
He lied to me when he said he thought of me while writing those songs
It was just for the sake of conversation
When you find out someone’s romantic, so you play the role
That’s not how I want life to go

Love poem: This is why (continued)

I want nonchalance with a secret tendency to dramatize
That complements my inherent practicality and
Choice to turn this car around on the freeway by moving over the cement blocks that divide the different directional paths
Will I scare you like that?
Do I have to?

I have, two weeks to myself
Though filled with doctor appointments & studying for an exam that will
Determine where I go in life from here
To me, that’s thrilling
And you, are spilling

Oat milk in my kitchen, and it’s dripping
Making its way to the carpet
So I’m laughing
Because you’re obnoxious
But deeply honest

And this is why you and I are where ends meet

Donate to my PayPal & help me keep this website up! It is a collection of the poetry I feel comfortable sharing, and I don’t know why that is, but it is – so please help stabilize its presence on the interweb.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *