A fawn feels
His breath on her neck

The headlights flash

Her legs are thin
Shivering in the breeze
He holds them tight
Wish he would let go

Her back is soft
Covered in white spots
He caresses it
Wish he would stop it

The dark oaks
Silent giants
Rise high above her head
Watching, never saving

The headlights flash

She should escape
Before it escalates
But if she runs
He might shoot

Is the gun to her head,
or his?

The headlights flash
Waiting for her to do something
Anything at this point.

~

I think love is wonderful.
When I imagine it, I see fingers intertwined.
Cuddles on the couch.
I see two people opening themselves up fully to one another—
and not running away from what they find.

My version of love is everything that should be...
not what I, as a little girl, have seen.
My version of love holds no place for control.
No room for lies dripping in sugar.
In my version of love, you hold each other up.
You make each other better,
and everything feels lighter when you're together.

Because, hey—
nothing says "I don't love you" like screaming words behind closed doors.
Like the emptiness of countless sorries.
Like trying not to set a person off
who is supposed to be your "significant other."

My love is... confusion.

I don't know if I can catch feelings.
My butterfly-catching net is frayed and torn,
so they just keep flying away.
It seems so easy and natural for them...
I just wish I knew for sure.

Could love ever be in the air?
Or is friendship truly where the line ends?

I've been so focused on self-love and self-growth
that I've not been able to see beyond me.
When I try,
there is only emptiness—
and more questions.

What I want to know is this:
Why can't me, myself and I be enough?
Why does everyone I meet
see me as incomplete
without a man or woman on my arm?

I know I love my things,
my music and my art.
Tisane, quiet contemplation,
and poetry.

Maybe the loves I've seen
have left my heart scattered.
Maybe The One is still out there...
but maybe they just aren't.

Kissing is weird.
*** is weird.
It's almost always the last thing on my mind—
it's just not something that I crave.

Let alone trying to get someone
to like me enough
to even want to do those things with me—
seems like so much EFFORT.

...is being alone really so bad?

Maybe I'm not built for romance,
but GODS does it seem wonderful...
I just don't know if that kind of love is for me.

And sometimes we'll go to 7 Eleven
Get slushies &
Stay up late

But sometimes it's just
You and I
And the balcony railing
And the endless sky

When I think of you
I feel warm
Not bonfire-raging-hot
But hearth and fireplace

The conversations we spared
In the school hallway
Or in line for lunch
Or passing by on our way home
I left happier

If only I knew
Really knew
How to write poetry
To do this feeling justice

Warm but not hot
Comfortable and
Home
But something I'm afraid to call Love

It's the feeling I get when
I'm with my mom
Or my sister
And I'm scared you don't feel it back

I wish I knew why
I see you as family-like
Not that you're a bad friend,
Of course, but
Am I really that clingy?

Or is this just good friendship
And I'm just really stupid
But I knew that already

I want to love you like how I'm meant to love you
The truth is I know that love will never be true

I want to love you but it will never be real
The love we both want is not how I feel

The love I have is different from yours
Mine is restricting making me want to explode out of my pores

Maybe if I wasn't born this way then I could love you how I want to
Maybe if I was born the right way I could love you how I'm meant to

We played a game,
Where neither of us--tell a name
And yet, submerge in a ravine of shame.

We agreed to this perilous gamble
In a morbid hope of a beast to tame;

Which crawls beneath my skin
Set to devour everything akin--
       To happiness and love,
That was stowed away hidden
      In a secret trove.

These poems I write, they’re my escape,
though from what I do not know.
My troubles seem to evaporate
the moment I let them show.

I write about love, which is ironic
because I’ve never had a lover.
I used to think maybe I was sick;
for I’ve never longed for one either.

I write about death when I’m feeling down
so I can cry to something new,
but thinking to when I lost real tears,
maybe they weren’t mine to lose.

Even now as I write this down
- my headphones on but paused -
I wonder where my motives are bound,
for I always feel like a fraud.

my fingertips are cold, with slowed movement
and there is a grace to them, dancing in such a sorrowful way
I'd almost think they were longing for someone
to hold them, locking each other, and brushing against

and yet, my mind grows uneasy at that idea of warmth
I draw my frigid hands away, escaping the touch
how unbearable it would be, in all reality
they remain as they are, how i'd prefer, lonely.

Hindi kailan man umiba ang pintig ng puso,
Pusong ikinabit sa mga emosyon,
Emosyon na hindi malaman kung bakit nagsimula,
Nagsimula at bumuhay sa magugulong pangarap,
Pangarap na magmamahal ngunit hindi kayang isuko,
Isuko ang puso para sa iba.

Iba, iyan sila. At iba ka rin sakanila,
Sakanila na nagsasabing darating din ang araw na magmamahal,
Magmamahal ng buong puso at kaluluwa,
Kaluluwang hindi sigurado kung totoo nga ba,
Totoo nga bang may kahati ka,
May kahati ka, at ako nga ba?

Ngunit lumipas ang panahon,
Panahon na nasayang sa paghahanap sa tutugon,
Tutugon sa kaisipang itinatak nila sa isipan,
Sa isipan kong naguguluhan.

Ngunit aking napagtanto,
Napagtanto na hindi lahat iibig sa alam nilang paraan,
Paraan kung saan ang dalawa o higit pang tao ay pupunan ang kakulangan,
Kakulangan na sabi nila'y mabubuo lamang,
Mabubuo lamang kapag nagtagpo ang mga pusong natutong magmahalan.

Ngunit paano nga ba magmahal?
Magmahal ng isinusuko ang lahat,
Lahat na gagawin ko rin sa aking mga kaibigan,
Mga kaibigang handang pakinggan,
Pakinggan tulad ng pakikinig sa boses mo,
Sa boses mo na tila tumugon sa boses ko,
Sa boses ko na bigla nalang din natigilan.

Ngunit hindi ito para sa'yo,
Sa'yo kung saan may nagpatigil ng tinig ko,
Tinig ko na nagtatanong nanaman,
Nagtatanong nanaman kung bakit tila may mali sa sariling pagkakakilanlan,
Pagkakakilanlan sa puso at sa pagmamahal nitong alam.

Isang araw gumising nalang,
Gumising nalang at napagalaman,
Napagalaman na maraming paraan ng pagmamahal,
Pagmamahal na posible minsan,
Minsan... o siguro nga'y kadalasan,
Kadalasan ay iba ang pagkaunawa,
Pagkaunawa sa pag-ibig na pilit nilang itinatatak sa isipan.