I oft feel an angry kind of love
like that of a tender tempest.
I guess it's best described as
that moment before you start
to cry
when your tears swell
and press against your eyes
waiting
to let out their fiery fear.

Insecurities are, by and large,
the number one contributor
to this ******* feeling.
I could be talking to you
and you could be talking to me
expressing all manners of affection
and, sure, I'd take it.
But the little ******
in the background
will warn me of ulterior motives,
malignant and baleful
that will seriously **** with me
and keep me thinking
whether its true?

I hope its all a load of
*******
absolute ******* *******,
and when you do say
"I love you",
I'll say it too.