scared

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