Finding a lover is effortless
for some people.
They only want a few things:
Someone attractive, kind,
funny or rich.

But
I desire
something so much deeper.

I want

an intelligent mind
that wakes up thoughts in me
I didn't realize were hibernating.

I want

to converse, analyze and debate
without being conscious of
the sun rising and falling
between our words.

I want

to make a witty remark
at a coffee shop
so he can reply sarcastically
just for me to jab back immediately
and for him to comeback back playfully
until we're both laughing
stomachs shaking
spit flying
the whole store staring
and we leave
without coffee

I want

our hands to stitch together
perfectly
like two lost puzzle pieces;
one found under a couch cushion
one found inside a junk drawer.
The rest of the puzzle has
already been thrown away
but
these two pieces remain
and they fit.

I want

to fall in love together
then together fall in love with
art, museums, songs, poems
T.V shows, radio jingles,
greek food, backroads,
our mutual hatred for pop culture,
doing the dishes (as long as he washes and I dry)
wrong turns, piled up laundry, life.
Just fall in love with life.

I want

to hurt with him

I want

to save the world with him

I want

to meet, see, understand
and experience all that is foreign
with him.

I think it will only take us meeting
and it'll only be history and happiness from then on.

It's just a matter of if a love like that could ever be
and if a love like that could ever be for me.

It started with a hint upon the air,
the telltale heaviness of anticipation.
A few brave drops fall,
testing their reception on this earth.
Then the drops fall in earnest,
surging down on she who is uncloaked,
embracing the coolness on her skin,
each drop a sweet lingering kiss.
The thunder roars, both terrifying and exhilarating.
The lighting flashes, the wind picks up,
tangling her hair with earnest.
Yet still she stands, embolden by the chaos,
finding peace and comfort in it all.
Your love is a summer storm,
earth-shattering,
deafening,
irresistibly beautiful.

Because of social media I've learned I am not good enough

Because of social media I've learned my best isn't truly my best

Because of social media I've learned that if I don't look a certain way, I will be shamed

Because of social media I feel obligated to wear makeup

Because of social media I've learned to hate myself

You

Your light blue eyes that resemble your fathers and like mine, never want to rest
Your thick, golden hair that bounces with every move you make
Your imagination that is wilder than any children's book
Your big feet that stomp around the house and chase the monsters away
Your fingers that so often open the refrigerator for that last piece of cheese
Your strong legs that never stop kicking, running, walking, moving
Your arms, the way they sway as you watch your favorite show, the way they hug and wrap around my legs as I drop you off at daycare, not wanting to let go
I don’t want to let go
Your mind, constantly wondering, constantly thinking and scheming, and growing each and every day
Your voice, the most amazing sound I have ever heard, even in the middle of the night when you should be fast asleep “mama” is what I hear and “mama” is what you made me and “mama” I am proud to be.
You, Liam Hugh, Age 2