does she know
how many times
p e r  m i n u t e
you tap your fingers on your thighs
when you're about to see her?

does she know
how many millimeters
your eyes dilate
when you see her?
but not me, not me

does she know
how white your knuckles are
when you hear that
somebody hurt her?
and i can hear you boiling

tell her to keep a tally
and beg me to not

i'm good at math;
counting things i'll never have.

With all my insecurities
Faults and failures
How could anyone love me?

With all my past mistakes
***** deeds and regrets
Why would someone care for me?

With all my angry shouts
Suspicions and paranoias
What is there to love about me?

With all these scars
Curves and stretch marks
Who could possibly want me?

With all these little dark thoughts
Depressive words and suicidal stanzas
Where is that one to love me?



*And finally set me free?

Stop living your life like you're in some kind of a movie.  
Stop trying to cast your true love instead of just meeting them.
Love isn't always a lightning bolt, maybe sometimes it's just a choice.
Maybe true love is a decision.
A decision to take a chance with somebody.  
To give to somebody without worrying whether they'll give anything back or if they're going to hurt you or if they really are the one.
Maybe love isn't something that happens to you, maybe it's something you have to choose.


**True love is a process, not an event.

I'd rip out all the stars in the sky
and leave it bare,
just to write you the poem you deserve,
with their everlasting glow and my benighted hands.
Because the darkness
had never been banished so swiftly,
as when I saw you
and you saw me.
Please keep a song of me in your heart,
as I'll keep your smile and this moment,
as I'll think about it too often,
too long.

And wouldn't it be divine,
if we found each other
on a starless night?