I can’t help but romanticize every little bit of my life.
Give me heartbreak I’ll make it growth.
Give me a failure I’ll make it a lesson.
Give me a foe I’ll make them a friend.
Give me your heart I’ll keep it safe.

Love comes out so easily sometimes it feels unintentional.
Like boiling water in a *** on the stove.
It just bubbles out of me.
You might think from these poems I’m a hopeless romantic.
One who tosses rocks and windows, says I love you first and does grand gestures.
I don’t.
I don’t share these poems.
I don’t breakdown to love songs.
Most people say I’m intimidating.
The love comes out in every small action.
Giving them the bigger bowl of pasta.
The piece of bread with more garlic.
Remembering their Tuesday plans.
Wanting to understand how they think.
Finding that perfect, thoughtful gift they never asked for but they love.
Really listening when they speak.
Giving an unsolicited head rub just because I’m really good at them - and I like to hear them sigh with relief as they melt into my legs.
Just like the bubbles in the ***, one by one, they boil out of me.
Often, to evaporate.

Maybe the reason writing is so soothing to me is because I truly am a woman of my word.
I know these letters I write will not be lies.

I keep waiting for the shoe to drop.
I can’t believe you like me. My brain won’t let me.
Maybe it’s evolution of thought.
Self preservation from it’s previous losses.
I discount everything that’s happened.
Looking for signs to prove my doubt.
To not become hopeful because it can’t be true.
A guy like you would be too good to be true.

There’s been a lot of toxic love before you.
You being pure makes me see it.

My brain is wasting all of its time on these **** men.
Not worth it’s time or processing power.
I should be using it to build my empire.
I’m never happy after thinking about love interests.
At best, I’m left with an anxious longing.
So why do I put myself in that loop?
I am the happiest, and feel the most alive when I am creating.
Creating new, powerful things.
Growing.
Why do I let myself get distracted by the things that don’t bring me joy.
It’s time for some mental spring cleaning.

The months I felt the deepest I kept quiet.
I lay in bed and wonder if I’ll ever feel sure again.
If anyone will ever calm my waters that deeply.
Ignite me as much as he did.
How many I love you’s I didn’t say.
Even though I knew he felt it too.

It would have still ended in ruin.
Still here this October night searching for meaning.
I just wish I would have allowed myself to fully burst while it happened.
Right now I’m a malfunctioned firework.
Never truly went off to see beauty in the sky.
And yet, I am here. On the ground. Exploded.