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the existential romanticist
Poems
Dec 2020
for her, who sleeps next to me and walks in my dreams
tell me
how do I become someone's home
when I am all sticks and stones and poor timing
clumsiness held together by suppressed trauma
held back by a dam
I am both the skilled architect and the drunk contractor of my body
my memory has neighbourhoods inside of it each designed to cater to every occasion
tell me
where do I find the house known as me for you
in what neighbourhood do I search
I can't remember the last time I have held onto something
as unfamiliar as being loved back
what I'm trying to say is that
I don't know if I can be a house
but I can be the warm light that somehow takes you through the darkest days
I can be the worn out blanket that holds its charm with a little help of softener
I can be the go-to mug, with spots from over-use and poor maintenance but volume big enough for a comfort drink
I don't know if I can be a house
but I will take my limbs, my bones, my skin
and one by one
become a safe space
I love you so much, sorry for being so complicated
#love
Written by
the existential romanticist
F/amongst the stars
(F/amongst the stars)
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