it’s true, love scares me still
though i have found it to be soft
have been cradled in arms
that have only ever been kind
my forehead is still
freckled with kisses from
lips that smiled
and never shouted at me
unless it’s with laughter
love scares me, still
the same way
hot chocolate exhausts me, still
the comfort of cream and marshmallows
feel hollow when i am forced
to clean the cup
scrub the sides with a sponge
and leave it out to dry
a warm bed is still warm when i have to get out of it
and the covers are most inviting
when it’s time to pull them over
and leave their embrace for the day
i bought new sheets
and slept incredibly for weeks
but leaving the bed was almost
a daily defeat
and poetry
feels less poetic
when the poem is pulsing
in my pen
but the ink is refusing
to cooperate
when i scribble down
the side of the page
in frantic attempt to make it write
before the poem escapes
from my brain
every good has a bad
every joy comes
with an undeniable trace of sad
and love scares me, still
cradles will break
foreheads will sweat away the kisses
lips will shout
inevitably, i am sure
the time will come
but i make hot chocolate
despite the dirty cup
rest my head
despite the magnetic pull of the mattress
when morning is bright
i write the poems
even when my pen is
gasping for breath
i love
even though
i know
it could kill me.
12:49pm - 07/10/25