what am i meant to do when my mind's empty and i can't sleep?
i have nothing to ponder
no dream worlds to drift into
no false realities to explore
nothing
blank spaces to fill
but i haven't any ink to spill
so delirious i think this is poetry
it's hardly even a train of thought
more a barrel of babble
usually
my mind is a jumble
of stolen
found
borrowed
and new words
but they seem to have taken the night off
how convenient
my melatonin is lacking
my words are slacking
and i still think this is poetry

i did not bloom from a household of love
i grew from the rubble of failed attempts
i thought love was sacrifice
sacrificing your time
your safety
and sanity
i thought love was tolerance
tolerating strangers
judgement
and lies
i thought love was fear
fearing what you'll do
what you'll give
and what you'll take
i thought love was pain
that it was only heartbreak
that the only proof it was real was a new child
that if it hurt it had to be real
i've grown to realize that just isn't right
i've learned
you don't have to settle for this love
love is acceptance
but not accepting *******