I think it's hard being with me, like standing amidst a tornado, the destructive kind,
that rips apart houses built on memories and
hope.
The kind that brings down freezing rains and
doubt.
I think it's hard being with me, with my need to hold you so close and
never let you go,
for fear that without you near, I may collapse and bleed out from my chest because
without you,
my ribs will not hold my heart firmly in place.
I'm difficult to be with.
I sing. But I sing too loud and I cry, but my tears are too much and I laugh
but it echos about and leaves behind a need for closure.
I'm difficult to be with, but you love me anyway, and some days,
I'm not so sure why. You say it's the way I smile,
that it's like the sun rising on the dark valley that is your mind,
causing bloom to the dormant flowers that are your thoughts.
You say it's the way I laugh, that it's like
feeling the breeze on your face first thing in the morning after a long and weary rest.
You say I'm not so hard to love, that love
is the freckle in my eye and way our bodies fit perfectly together, that
not only is it not hard to love me, but it's
the best decision you've ever made
and that a day without me
is the end of living as you know it. Completely aware
that life will go on because it must
but that the air within your lungs will become dust
inhaled and exhaled
from your lips that will freeze over without a purpose,
no love to mutter.
God gave you me, you think, as the one to keep the spark alive that keeps your heart beating,
just for me, you say.
You say so much, but every bit of it I beg for off your tender lips
that I love so dearly to kiss.

I think I'm hard to love,
you think I'm crazy.

Maybe I'm crazy.