Love is about comfort.
It's the warm memories that wrap around you
like a hug that you never want to escape.
It travels through every inch of your veins
like a spell that slowly pulls you under.
Love is an infection.
Its toxicity poisons your thoughts
and convinces you of a false world
where he has finally fallen
for his soulmate.
Love is about worrying.
It's constantly questioning if you're good enough,
wondering if he's going to hurt you,
and thinking that he will someday leave-
because he always does.
Love is a fear.
Because what if he doesn't love you back?
You want to feel that hug,
but you can't control how he feels-
and that fucking scares you.
Love is about wanting to know how he feels.
It's not wanting to waste your time,
fantasizing about a world where two soulmates meet
and meld into one
if it's never going to happen-
I don't understand what love is.
It's tugging at my heartstrings,
wanting to fill the void that I never knew was there.
It's a craving, a hope, and a need,
yet I don't think I'm doing it right.
How can I be
when I feel like the only one suffering?
2.10.2024
YOU ARE READING
pieces of me: poems
诗歌To the girl twenty-four hours ago, crying into her pillow and questioning what comes next, you'll be okay. "pieces of me" is a collection of thoughts that make up who I am, inspired by either fictional or real emotions and experiences. Through poetr...
