I don’t know if I
believe that being in love
is for everyone.

I see people everywhere
dying to be with their
partner all the time,
calling and texting,
love songs speckled
throughout my
shuffled playlist,
and heart broken people
thinking they’ll never be okay
without that person.

But I don’t feel it.
Love, for any man anymore.
I feel my ego wanting
to be wanted,
and loneliness trying to
fill the void.

But I don’t trust that
head over heels type love
anymore.
It’s not real.
Nothing lasts forever,
and you learn that
whatever sadness you have
inside of you
is yours and yours alone
to take care of.

You really do die alone.

I grew up on the front porch,
listening to the
song of the whippoorwill.
We came running when
we heard the dinner bell,
back from roaming
the woods and the creek.
Listening to classic rock
in the backseat,
no AC on a hot summer day
and a cooler packed
with lunch.

Vacations were trips
to Kentucky and the
hollers of Virginia
and that time we went to
the grand ol opry.
My hometown has one stoplight
and you’ll hear gossip
about someone you know
at the gas pump.

Now I’m dating a man
who lives on Main Street
and I’m the last one in
the house I grew up in.
My siblings live in the next
town over, and my parents
are down the road.
But not much has really changed,
I’m still growing up
on the front porch.

I like when he puts
his arm around me
as I’m laying against
him on the couch,
and he gives me
a little squeeze and says,
my girl.
I like the way it sounds.

They say,
she’s a good girl.
Girls like that don’t just
grow on trees
but once they’ve
taken enough bites
they leave.

I wish I was the shiniest
Apple on the highest branch,
soaking up all of the sunshine,
bright red and juicy
enough for one man
to finally pick
and take home
instead of leaving me
to rot on the ground
in the shade.
At least the worms like me.

He takes the time
to tell me I look good,
and can’t keep his hands
off me when we’re
on the couch.
He thanks me for
spending time with him
and calls me
pretty lady.
When I’m upset
he asks what he can do
to help
and says we will
figure it out together.
And then today he called
me babe for the first time.
He tells me he misses me
even after we just saw each other
and remembers
everything I say.

Is this what gentle
love feels like?
Or is that just what
Love feels like.
To be seen, heard and wanted.

We haven’t said
I love you yet but
I can feel it.