this thing tastes like copper between your tongue and teeth
taking nourishment
in the sweetened bitterness
of belief.

love is smaller,
it’s refusing to grow,
you can call it “regression”

but it’s called letting go.

to the lovers
who use this site to tell us their stories
"Insert Title"
Your love is magnanimous
is gorgeous pure and beautiful
but
"Insert Title"
some search for "real poetry" about life or death or something
philosophical, so let them say
"Insert Title"

and as someone who has had their heart broke?
its ok.
this place isn't a democracy, we all don't get a vote
and to anyone who thinks i agree with
"Insert Title"

"Insert Note"