I don’t like you
But I love you.
I can hear you asking me
How can that possibly be?
You either love me
Or you hate me.
But that really isn’t reality.
Your behavior is ******* me.

It’s true, I love you
But, things you do
Are some actions I hate
Quite obnoxious of late;
You carry on badly
And often quite madly.
I don’t want you around then.
Come back when sane again.

The you that I like
Has taken a hike
And left behind a spoiled brat
Who has no idea where it’s at.
You once were sweet
As anyone could meet
Then you fell for your own hype
And I never enjoy that type.

No, I don’t like you
But I do love you
And that makes it really tough
But loving you is not enough
To see you daily
And act all gaily
When I can’t stand what you do.
Because I really don’t like you.

The weight of you, bears upon my shoulders
my chest
my soul

I feel you swell within me, bearing down into the swirling darkness.

I want, need, crave

I must stare into the depth of you, and find that evasive piece.
Why can't you be here in more than just body and flesh.

The dirt beneath the edges
was scraped out and scattered.
Your roots were reaching through to the other side.

Growing longer with laughter
we bred trees of humanity
and plums of perfect stories
were whispered in the night.

You sang of loud cities.
Erosion. Circumstance.
I shook beneath the sheets
and you held me till morning.

Now we get hollow.
It’s autumn and I miss the sun.
This fruit has soured the air
but please don’t go yet, I still need you.

The wind is blowing through us.
Creaking. Snapping.
Cold shivers.
I think we’re both gone now.
I think I still miss you.

I've been thinking a lot about one of the more meaningful and meaningless emotions,
the one they call love.

Is anyone else plagued by the thought that with each new venture
the whole experience feels like a regurgitation of past,
like you're playing the same role with new actors,
the same script, but you expect a different ending?

Even when you know, you know.

You say the same sweet lines, do the same warm actions,
feel the same dark often false pangs of "love".

Can you ever go into love untouched, unjaded, unhaunted by your past?

Your mother, father, lack there of, boyfriends, girlfriends,
lovers had and lovers lost and lovers never found,
you think about them with every move,
you think about who you were, who they were,
how this new you and new they could/should/would be.

Who are you?
When are you yourself?
Will you ever be yourself?

Or are you what they want, what they need, what you want them to see?

Can't we just be?

"I love you."

You're just another you.