I don't always know what I want.
I can't always love who I am.
But how can one love themselves...
If no one has loved them?

How can one know what affection is
If it has never been shown?
Can that being give someone their heart
Indefinitely. Not merely on loan?

Is it a process? Or is it a gift?
It sure is funny, this thing we call love.
We all say it to express a feeling...
A high, maybe adoration; just a yearning of.

I'm tired of lonely days and restless nights
Pondering this thing that may just be a myth.
Just when I think it may have found me,
I wind up harder, colder...more stiff.

All of the risks I take hoping and praying.
Only end up making it harder to trust.
So I find beauty in words, in poetry, in pain.
Because if we give up on love...
We'll have to settle for lust.