"I love you,"
One:
You are the first person to ever say that to me
The grass felt soft and the air warm
We couldn't stop laughing

"I love you,"
Two:
I'm a bit more skeptical because words aren't actions
And you're actions are yelling another story; it sounds more like a tragedy than a comedy.

Three:
Someone told me they loved me before, but hadn't thought about what it means. I trust you are most selective with my feelings. (A candle-lit dinner means more than artificial light.)

"I _ _ _ _ you,"
Four:
We say "love" as often as "hate;" they can be equally destructive.

Five:
I'm alone. I can love myself.

"I love you,"
Six:
This time I said it first. That was a mistake. You are only skin deep. You couldn't understand anything more than perfume and mascara. It makes all the difference if you break or are broken.

Seven:
We are collapsing buildings, screaming it one last time before we accept we never had a chance. If we had been trees we could have swayed in the breeze.

Eight:
I am alone.

"I love,"
Nine:
My love is for someone else, not for myself.

Ten:
I'm very cautious when someone says, "I love you." I've heard it before. I have only seen it through squinting eyes.
When it's honest, I hope I know how to care for it properly.

If you are uncomfortable when you look in the mirror,
keep in mind:
We spent thousands of years
trying to convince the earth
she was flat.

We wrote her maps as evidence of the things we saw;
and she believed them.
She cried tsunamis, and had earthquake breakdowns.

Keep in mind: the Sun never gave up hope.
The earth will keep spinning and breathing
the star-dusty space void of encouragement.

Next time you look in the mirror
and second-guess your potential divinity,
remember you will keep shining and living.

Because the Sun is out there
believing in you,
compensating for lack of the human capacity
to treat each other empathically.

You don’t need proof or approval
to be exactly what you are;
Eventually everyone will see
your infinite beauty.

If you are going to shine in this world,
it is essential to know:

You will cast shadows.

People will hate you for
the darkness,
instead of praising you
for clarity.

my town
where wild flowers grow
between tram tracks.
there was a time when
it was hardly morning,
no bridge into daylight.

walls had ears,
neighbors had eyes
whispering behind the curtains
there was an emptiness in the guts
of the city
and poetry locked in the drawers,
Borges was read under the blankets
while Dostoievski was  a comforter:
demons were embedded.

yeah, people were clapping and smiling
watching the nub of history, numb
they had a life to live,
what can you say?

one day the radio
burst on in the streets
some were shivering in the attic
"we are free", they said
"we are free",
came the echo in trance

"shhhhh"! said others,
let us wipe the blood
don't disturb the sacrificed
so we can sleep
without dreams

it's Thursday in my town
streets are weary
and our souls are
slowly expanding

And when you fall
Get right back up
People aren't
Always there
To pick you up
Too busy
Or whatever
Just get up
Someone will appreciate
Your worth, one day.
And you'll be glad
You'll realise
That all you did
Was a path to them
In disguise

I'm in love with someone's daughter
living in the shards of a broken home
Cutting herself on two year-old letters
These are moments she can't fake;
reasons to feel alone
So used to abuse, her tears start to shake
I hold her close as her head starts to ache
"I love you too much,
so I can't let your heart break."
She said, "I know you love me,
but you've made a mistake."

I never meant for anyone to be my pulse.
I promise not to step on your feet
if you teach me how to waltz.

My son runs, wrapping arms around
my nebulous waist.

"l love you, Mom!"  He squeezes tighter,
as if letting go would be his black hole.

"I love you, too, " I squeeze back, absent mindedly.  (Where is the cream? I need coffee.)

"I love you more!" he breathes, without pause.
He gazes into my eyes,
searching my planets.

"Oh no, that can't be true," I retort.
I forget the coffee, his eyes are starlight.

"I love you to infinity!" he exclaims,
staring harder.

He wants to sail the Milky Way with me.

"Me too," I reply, and remember oxygen tanks.

I'm speaking in light years, and I hope the sound waves will catch up to him.

His face cracks into a million years of forever, before he lets go,
dancing across the universe of our livingroom,
his solar system intact.

At least for now.