recently
I got a little older,
learned a lesson or two,
like how loving someone
could never be as poetic
as I wanted it to.
like how nothing
would ever be as poetic
as I wanted it to.
how can I accept
that the miracle of love
isn’t really a miracle at all?
how can I wrap myself
in someone’s arms
when I know
that there isn’t any sort
of poetic loving involved?
how do I unlearn
the romantic thoughts
that taught me
about the fireworks,
the butterflies,
and the fluttering fingers
in the dark.
and accept that
maybe kissing
won’t be as spiritual as I thought.
maybe it’s really just a mouth on mine.
how do I unlearn my innocent heart
who lulled me into a false sense of hope
for a lover who would call
the way my body moves
art.
a lover who would feel
the poetry
in every word
I spoke in the dark.

everyone tells me that people rub shoulders a lot,
that messy feelings and broken people collide a lot
that everyone bumps into someone
from time to time
after all,
we are all just hearts
struggling to keep
our heads above the water.
but when we collided
& our hearts bumped into each other
i heard, oh hello
i have been looking for you,
all this time.
& it wasn't the same.
all those people
but most everyone wasn't a someone
to me,
except you.
because people & i rub shoulders a lot
& i have met a lot of hearts
in this messy, complicated life
but none of them
touched me
quite like you.
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