i’m not a lover,
i’m a mover.
a pusher,
a puller,
a secret keeper.
a violent hurricane
that leaves palm trees overturned
and businesses distraught.
an afterthought,
a delicate reminder of joy
for only a moment.
a hazy daydreamer,
a ‘try my best.’
a solo traveler,
who braves the windy waves alone.
though the water tumbles over
ships and i feel like surrendering.

i am a lover,
i just don’t understand the patterns of skin touching,
of how to awaken the lullabies buried inside of me.
i don’t understand how to stop the madness
from escaping my palms
and dripping onto your back.
i wipe the ink from your body.
it stains my fingertips.
i am a lover,
i just don’t understand how to love you,
to surrender to the thought that maybe i cannot control everything in my wake
and that is not a curse.
i am a lover who was raised in flames,
but i can be tame.