i imagine little pieces of you
clinging to my shirt,
like dandelion seeds,
when you kiss me.

but you are much, much more than a mere ****.
you're a vivid, radiant flower in a garden of wilting stems.

and every time you smile at me
i swear,
something in me grows again.

perhaps you're the sunshine
that nourishes my growth.
perhaps you're the rain
that makes my cloudy days worthwhile.
and more than that,
you're the earth that keeps me here.
you're the dandelion that grows in my garden.

I told you to kiss me
until I felt something, anything.
And you did,
and it turns out
you taste a lot
like happiness.

There isn't a feeling like being awake undergoing a surgery.
I guess it was a lot like being hurt by someone you loved.
I guess it was a lot like loving him.
You know you are being hurt. You feel the scissors, the knife, you feel them pulling, you feel them cutting, but you don't feel hurt.
You know they're hurting you, but deep inside, you choose to not feel the hurt. You choose to be numb. You choose to believe they aren't hurting you.
But then you can't take it anymore, and there's nothing you can't do. So you let them to keep hurting you. And they keep hurting and hurting until they take something from you.
No matter how small, how irrelevant. how good or how bad. It's still something.
They took something from you. A piece of you that you're never getting back. And the minute they get that something, they stop hurting They leave.
And when they leave, there's nothing else but an ocean of hurt. Everything you do hurt. Every word you speak hurt. Everything you do reminds you of them.

There are instances where
I will stop loving you.
If you hurt me
and I don't leave,
then I am blind.
Love may be blind,
but it is not unconditional.

I've gotten myself
Entangled
in a fine mess
of **you