samantha May 16
Sometimes,
when it’s late at night and we haven’t spoken in some hours,
you fall asleep without texting me goodnight,
and I’m left wondering if you love me
like I love you.

But other times,
when we are together and your eyes are locked on mine,
it is silent.
But not a bad silent, because the light is shining through the window and reflecting off of my mirror and onto your face, and your face is
almost as soft as the faint heartbeat I feel in my chest.
When we are together, I tell you “I love you,” and you say you
love me too.

But, you reply that you “love me more.”
So, I love you “most.”
But you love me to “infinity,”
and nothing beats infinity,
so I guess you think you’ve taken the crown in the battle of our hearts.
Unless, of course, you consider my loving you more than infinity… but you’re structured mind won’t accept my metaphors.

Can love be quantified?

Can I truly love you more than you love me? As if I have taken the love out of my fragile heart and placed it on a scale, feeling it’s weight in my hands and seeing its amount in numbers before me?

Would love still be love if it was measured so?
Or, would it turn into something we collect,
rather than something we cherish and give away?

What is love, anyway?

Other than the happiness I feel when I am with you? Or
the peace I feel inside when your warmth engulfs me and the turmoil in my mind is silenced?

Perhaps love isn’t one particular thing. Perhaps it is many things, presenting itself in many ways.
And, perhaps, your love presents itself in different ways than mine.

When you say you love me I know it's true, because by God,
if it isn’t love,
what the hell is it?
samantha May 15
All your life
you're told to keep fighting,
to "stay strong"
and to "carry on."

Never once was I told that it was okay
to not be okay.

That I was allowed
to cry
and be upset.

Because my tears were a weakness,
and those words couldn't hurt me,
and my "imaginary” fears couldn't taunt me.

And so I would hold it in.

Try and hold back the tears.
Stare at the ceiling when you're upset.
Distract yourself.
Make fun of your sensitive being.
Turn your emotions into a joke.

But inside,
my throat is burning
and
my vision is blurred
and
my heart is pounding
and
I can't say a word.


Because if I say something,
just one sentence,
everyone will know.

And no one should know.

Because my tears are a weakness
and my emotions are a joke.

And it's true that they teach this.

No,
not in my school,
but in my home,
and on the T.V.,
and in the apps on my phone.

Society taught me at a young age
not to cry.
To "suck it up"
and behave.

Because no one cares
about my emotions
and my feelings
and my well being

until it's too late

and I'm already

too far
gone.
samantha May 15
I am here,
alone,
where the river diverges in six different paths,
and where the mountain turns into a cliff,
and from there, the water flows
downward
creating a waterfall.

You will find me here,
alone,
where the sun struggles to rise,
and where the rooster rarely crows,
and the eagles endeavor to fly
upward
spreading their wings and drifting through the air.

Come find me here,
for I am alone,
and the wind is howling
but the wolves are louder.

The beasts only come out at night,
when I am alone.
But,
dear friend,
sometimes the moon doesn’t even shine bright enough to see.
samantha May 15
She longed to be held,
to be explored.
She longed for someone who
would come into her life with a strong sense of curiosity.
Someone who would deeply examine her soul.
To learn about it,
and more importantly,
to understand it.

— The End —