my mother always said
"don't fall in love with a poet"
they pretend to love you
but what they really love
is writing about loving you
you are mere words to them
feelings cheapened by a page,
dusty grey typewriters,
and many unfinished drafts
of lovers both old and new,
you are the question mark,
but not the answer,
they are searching for ?
person unidentified: mystery
the page wanderer,
each poem a missing
person poster to cover their
bedroom walls.
they cannot love something
that is in their head
poets are the loneliest of
all people, my mother said.
they write to immortalize
what has long passed.
to live within their words,
but not reality,
lost souls writing suicide notes
and proclaiming it art.

Why is love so hard?
Its bites you with its piercing sting
It tames you with its frightening claws
Far beyond your power, once caged within

It hurts, when they hurt
you cry, when they cry
bleed when they bleed
and crumble when you try
to help them

because it makes you weak to empathise

Yet
with the force of a gale,
it stands
      firm against the wind

You have no choice,
no choice
     but to give in

It hurts the place in your heart,
             where theirs
    is cradled, safe

So you try to be soft
when they rage
Try to be sweet
when they're bitter

because you know they'd do the same for you
and to maintain balance,
for yourself

But
  this is the sacrifice we make,
                      the risk we take

and that's why love is beautiful.