Tag: poetry about love

Love poem: Skin to teeth, nineteen times

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Love poem: Skin to teeth, nineteen times

Like picked out of a hornet’s nest,
I painted the walls an ivory-white mixed with peach-pink.
You don’t even drive a truck, so why am I so in love
With you
It must be your character
Your calm personality, too
I can’t do my own laundry without thinking of how you told me,
You would move to Chicago if that was where I was meant to be
We planned our future alongside each other
With short attention span like honeybees.

Like picked straight out of a hornet’s nest
You melted and hardened me like the sap on Sycamore trees.
You kept your cards so close
Like a wild Siamese
A cat scratch disease

Love poem: Skin to teeth, nineteen times (continued)

You’re the kind of guy that –
If you hit someone with your car
They’ll say it really wasn’t your fault at all
I’m the kind of girl
That knows to carefully watch the things I may say
Even though it all
Gets skewed anyway

You can see why I thought we’d be perfect.
You can understand why I wanted to work through it
I nicked my finger trying to open
An Amazon package
Got blood stains on my t-shirt and had to change immediately
Obviously, you know what they would have to say
Sometimes I feel jealous that your life is so black-and-white
Because I feel like the clothing one doesn’t want to put away
And I have no right to complain
My life just turned out this way

When we sat on your couch, and you paused the film
To tell me all about work and all the things that you feel,
I think I fell in love with you for the seventeenth time
And I knew I’d be in love with you for the rest of my life.

Love poem: Skin to teeth, nineteen times (continued)

Because if I accidentally looked down, and hit someone with my car
they would probably say that I had planned this all along
I don’t wanna sound like a victim, but am I truly wrong?
If you were to do quite the same
Regardless of which neurotransmitters were on fire in your brain
They’d forgive you before you even had the option to apologize
Exactly how I did so, so, so many times

Because when I think of that one night,
Our entire future flashes right before my eyes
You and me and Chicago, the city of my dreams
Yet God has other plans
He knows what’s right, it seems
And so did I because when came the sinking feeling
I had the strength to come up for air
Am I self-absorbed to say it?
Am I no longer a casualty if I own it?

Now I’m driving on the motorway, passing by your place
I think I would collapse if I were to see your face.
But if you saw mine,
You may not even recognize
I walk a fine line between being everybody and nobody at the same time

Love poem: Skin to teeth, nineteen times (continued)

I still have visions of us going out
I still have thoughts of us dancing together
I still have visions of us going out
I still have daydreams of us dancing in poor weather

If we were next to each other in the car
And if you were to make a mistake,
No uncertainty I’d take the blame immediately
Because it’s ingrained so deeply within me
Written on the inner walls of my veins
I’d take the blame

A martyr for nothing
A martyr for you and me
And now I’m changing course
I’m thinking things through a little bit more definitively

I’m on the motorway passing by your place
and if I were to see your face
I would hopelessly fall in love for the eighteenth time

“Jesus is the way, the truth, and the life.”
He died for our sins
So that I can make peace with mine,
For the nineteenth time

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Poem: Ant colony (birthday balloons)

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Poem: Ant colony (birthday balloons)

Nuclear envelopes
A testable hypothesis
Will you still love me if I –
Will you drown me out
Like the noise in a soundproof room
He always said he’d like to go to solitary confinement just to get away
For a honeymoon

Light leaks
Asparagine and leucine
Convoluted sighs and my pink floor-length satin dress
Eating three times on Mondays,
Eating four times, the day after
Consuming enough carbohydrates to be like a plant
A prisoner in your gardener
A wide-awake blooming orchid
Couch that fell from a truck bed onto the motorway
We could just make it ours
Watch the fires and fireflies swarm in the distance
Devouring apricots
A routine for my bedtime

Poem: Ant colony (birthday balloons) [continued]

Letting go of lethargic tendencies
But I don’t have the energy
I’m miserable, with or without you
Have to be the writer of my own memoir, the heroine in my own maladaptive daydreams
That serve me quite well
Like soft serve by the beach
Made from plant-based oat milk & Oreos
I’ll let the sea and the sun and the sky devour me, so I can merge with the ants and
Worry only about my colony
What a dream it’s becoming

Empty head
Empty thoughts
Your Percocet
My writer’s block
I’ve been too, afraid, to put this down on paper
A typewriter with no keys
Hands that swell
Knees that bleed
I know perfectly well
That I’m who you need
Will you be there for me, in the daylight and the evenings?
My handsome prince
Tread carefully
I’m exactly who I aspire to be

Poem: Ant colony (birthday balloons) [continued]

I believe in myself, most of all
Though, the cognitive dissonance gets swept like ashes
At a fireplace
Melting, blurring a reality that you swore was three-dimensional
You vase of a porcelain starlit galaxy
You atmospheric void, claustrophobic from your own apprehension
I’m so in love with every part of you
Especially the pieces you really disdain

I’ll take them in my hands
Like the softest of sand

Poem: Ant colony (birthday balloons) [continued]

I don’t know what to do with all these birthday balloons
The vinyl you bought me, thank you, by the way
You precious thing.
And the things I have to move on from
Tangled in grief-ridden spiderwebs
Merging through lanes with my blinker forever on
I follow all the laws
When the crows are watching, carefully

I’ll let the sea and the sun and the sky devour me, so I can merge with the ants and
Worry only about my colony
What a dream it’s becoming

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Love poem: If you could, just, sing to me

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Love poem: If you could, just, sing to me

My day in the blistering sunshine
I wish your hand was latched onto mine
Except when you held it too tight, it hurt, and I said nothing because I was engulfed in the ivory, acrylic paint of the walls
I wish you could soothe me like you do your male friends

I got, rather presumptive
I thought we could make it work because it felt so worth it
Like the tides would change & our circumstances wouldn’t get the best of us
When I fell into old subservient patterns,
That I thought I wouldn’t
I said, screw it
We could work through it
But the tables that turned against me had thorns
My blood wasn’t well & I was increasingly worn
Down by the extent of which, I wanted it to work
A violent but quiet discomposure

Love poem: If you could, just, sing to me (continued)

Down by the bayside
I’ll never forget when an acoustic version of a song I loved in middle school (still do) came on
You threw your head back and sang so softly
I found it mildly alarming how awfully charming
And crisply ambient the evening felt right then and there
My eyes started to tear, and I wiped them real fast
I thought if it could be like this, we’d be golden
Nothing to take & everything to give
That is the drawback to my diplomacy
It doesn’t quite work out for me

Now I’m basking in the feverish sunshine
Hearing the lyrics in my mind
How true they conform to the set of conditions that unveiled my gentle but muted position
I wanted all of it to feel just like that
Right then and there, I was far too aware
That you are a beautiful human being only when you get what you want

Love poem: If you could, just, sing to me (continued)

But I can’t always play the right song
And moments in passing affect my brain far too strong
I latch on

If we could have just stayed at that stop light forever
We would’ve made it work
If you could have sang lullabies to lull me to sleep
We still couldn’t have made it work

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Poem: Four thoughts (Chicago dandelions)

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Poem: Four thoughts (Chicago dandelions)

Rose petals with lime in my hot coffee
Author’s alterations, metasomatism beneath my bedsheets
Making changes to my will because I will outlive my instruments & garments
I’m the most proper fit, and I laugh to myself
Because nobody else thinks it to be true
Playing in the garden all night long

If you’re made of arachidonic acid, you’re still not essential to me
Accelerated depreciation is like using plastic
So casual for you
The cavity where I reside is not accepting visitation
Though you can leave the fleurs and baguettes at the doorstep
Can I be a princess for once, please?
Can someone naturally want to take care of me?

Poem: Four thoughts (Chicago dandelions) [continued]

My abdomen is covered in spears
I don’t know where they came from
He found it addicting, and I chose not to feel bad, because I settled for a freedom that involved both him and me
I’m stored in the nacelle, and you’re a half-decent engineer
Who works so much he loses sight of
The real thing
When it’s engaging in self-piercing
Damaging increments
Fingernails painted dusty pink

I feel a permanent wholesome vacancy
A vacant office
A vacant smile
A vacant estate
A vacant room
A vacant seat on a bus
A vacant throne
A disengaged observer
Sometimes I wish you would just look at me
Stare at me so I would feel like I was really living, here.

Poem: Four thoughts (Chicago dandelions) [continued]

An abandoned factory
An abandoned field
An abandoned vehicle
An abandoned baby
I was left to fall into a state of disuse
And then I had to pick myself up
Here we are, I’m staring at Chicago on the plane’s seat live screen map, and I want to cry, because it’s screaming out at me

“You need to get rid of everything so that I can consume you in full”
Nobody can love you so much to the point that you can’t leave
This is everything and all that you want
To the point where a low-quality live map brings tears to my turning-dark-green eyes
Straightforward without reserve, my advocacy for my well-being
Openhearted and honest with my eternal sin
That I’m falling more and more in love with

I want what’s favorable
I accept what makes me want to sink, not just mine, but all of the ships
Things highly unpleasant to me are advantageous to the attitude I want to cultivate
Impartial to how we couldn’t quite relate

Poem: Four thoughts (Chicago dandelions) [continued]

I’ve got dandelions in my hair
The right guy won’t blow my wishes out
A commendatory view of my well-calculated decision and unruly spirit

I appreciate it all
The astronomical pitfalls
Everything is beautiful to me
If it wasn’t, I would not have stayed around here

Poem: Four thoughts (Chicago dandelions) [continued]

Sweet and angelic of you, a stranger said
Looked at me with the admiration the last few lacked
In a Duty Free store

I learned to be safe in my own skin
Complimentary to my own skeleton
Dandelions in my hair
The right guy won’t blow my wishes out

She was always four thoughts ahead of everyone else

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Love poem: This is why

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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
Love
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

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