"Am I worth of love?
The true, romantic one.
If I even know what that is.
I can't make out difference sometimes.
Do I like them?
Or just the comfort of given friendship?
I don’t know what to feel.

Do I deserve love?
I must, right?
Despite the bad things I've done.

Take my hand,
Don't ask too much.
Let me talk.
Pull me away
To kiss me in a corner.
Or do it right now.

Friends or more?
I don't know what it is.
Please tell me what it is,
And my heart'll be mine?"

A.V.

“I don’t know what love is,
but I think it’s being a little
happier when I meet your eyes.
I think it’s sitting in a quiet garden,
talking about the little things.
I think it’s wrapping you in my arms,
in an attempt to love you louder.

I think it’s interlocking hands,
when you feel a little lost.
I think it’s meeting eyes,
in a room far too loud.

I think it’s listening,
when all you can do is scream.
I think it’s soft breathing,
when the night creeps around me.

I think it’s trusting one another,
when we find comfort in others.
I think it’s a silent promise,
to walk the path beside you
when it leads through hell and worse.

I don’t know what love is,
but I hope it greets me kindly.”

A.V.

“I don’t talk because,
when you try to keep all hearts a piece;
yours shatters into a million shards,
and scatter into the night sky.

I don’t talk because,
I don’t even know what I feel
beside the feeling it *****.

I don’t talk because,
my ear has far more worth to me.

I don’t talk because,
I know you’re in a good
place right now.

I don’t talk because,
my shoulders have calloused,
and can carry this a little longer.”

A.V.

“Am I allowed to be angry?
Tell me, and be honest,
am I allowed to feel?
‘Cause every time I open up,
your problems are a little larger.
And every time you complain,
I suffer a little.

I am not your therapist,
whose advice you don’t take.
I’m your friend.

Am I allowed to be angry?
Tell me, and be honest,
am I allowed to feel?
‘Cause when I let my anger
out in retaliation.
You are a little angrier.

When will I be allowed to be human?
When won’t I be a punchbag anymore?”

A.V.

“I smile a little,
every time nature takes back.
A factory once booming,
weeds growing through the cracks,
vines enwrapping walls,
shards of glass in tall grass.

I cry a little,
every time nature gives too much.
concrete slabs for carbon-emissions,
tall brick towers for heating,
glass cages for the parasite,
aluminum and plastic in short grass.

I stare a little,
every time nature retaliates.
Waves crashing against metal,
seas forming in concrete bathtubs,
wind flattening itchy points,
sun melting neat grass.”

A.V.