love or lack thereof / restitching love

"love is a friend you can always return to

the star that leads you home, even in the dark

It's forgetting its existence cuz it is always there"

and it is, my love for you, i carry it with me everywhere and sometimes i forget its weight in my pocket, writing it off as another guilt i carry. My love for you is flawed, broken, forgetful. But it will always remain infinte.

With love, always

love is a cloth a few sizes too big for it to fit me, 
no matter how hard i try 

i cant squeeze myself in the threads which remain bursting at the seams

love is a feeling designed for others, 
with beauty, pain, and fates 
that fit them like a glove, they wear with pride
that is why whatever i write feels like 
putting on lipstick on a pig 

each poetry playing out like fools in a fable, 
serving as poison and a reminder of love and lack thereof

Ingenuinty becomes me and my heart so love becomes-
bringing tea for you partner, waiting for them at the steps of a temple 
giving their offerings to a god you don't believe in anymore 
kissing boys who taste of nutella and bad decisons 

love is the october chill wrapping me in its arms, 
love is all the lies i've uttered, so i dont feel its absence
love is a dog from hell,
it's the inferi raised from death so you can kill it all over again 
it's the smile you carry when someone brings up death 
and it's the despair that follows when it actually happens

love is another reason to not be alive, as it remains 
it's my dad trying to escape, so he doesn't have to deal with me
it is the guilt I carry as my mother cries, 
begging me to make her understand what is wrong with me 
and the tears i let out, cuz she never will

love feels like cherry ends of the cigarette that would end up killing me
It is the anger i suppress all the time, every day, cuz i was born a woman
It is the man i loathe, cuz he was born a man

the boy you love dreams of death,
so love is the funeral, the burning pyre
you'll jump on to feel the touch of his skin,
for a moment alone, 

love is the last thing you remember
as you surrender to the fire, cuz you never really felt love

And I continue writing of love and lack thereof,
wishing on the lonely moon and empty constellations
for the ivys and gold to find me