i used to tell myself the same thing.
that maybe something was wrong with me.
that maybe love was enough for me but i was not.
i have imagined kisses a thousand times
i have dreamt of arms around my own
and i have written enough love stories for the entire world
and poems to fill books
and i questioned so much-
my beauty, my worth, my skin, my bones
and i traveled and walked away
from fear and self-doubt
towards bravery and courage,
towards knowing what i want and what i deserve
and i know love is something i cannot earn,
something that belongs to me as much as air,
that love is enough for me
and i am enough for it
and i am enough with or without it.

my hands are like my heart:
they know how to hold heaviness.
they know how to hold hope.
they make words come alive.
my hands, like my heart,
have learned to let go.
to hold on.
they have learned not to be so soft
but not too rough.
both of them, my heart and my hands,
they are like hummingbird wings.
they flutter,
they dive into love as if it were an ocean.
they do not know how to stop.

bravery does not
scream, it does not shout, yet
it's louder than all

Don’t fall in love with a poet.

I’ll rip you up

I’ll break your heart

I’ll hurt you.

Don’t fall in love with a poet.

I’ll kiss your lips

Like I am the sun

Kissing the horizon as it falls each night

Don’t fall in love with a poet.

You’ll leave me

Or I’ll leave you.

Either way, I will indefinitely write about you.

tell me someone will love me
fully clothed
and

tell me someone will love me
with blood on my hands
and

tell me someone will love me
shaking, trembling, convulsing
and

tell me someone will love me
when they're searching for gold and i am rustic bronze
and

tell me someone will love me
with veins ripped apart
and

tell me someone will love me
with a starved stomach and empty eyes
and

tell me someone will love me
when i am dying
and

i'm asking you
//please love me//

i do not miss you
except that i do