They say you can't choose whom you love,
But I say that's not entirely true.
Sometimes, you will it
And their flaws melt into sea foam and footnotes
And you begin to love so deeply,
That it becomes as automatic as breathing
Constant. Ever. Driving.
Love that paints the sky pink and the blacks blue

But me, I'm not ready for that love.
Something inside me becomes nauseous.
The air gets taught and sharp,
Goosebumps become body briars
Ready to cut anyone too close.
I want to love, and,
One day, I'll will it.
Won't I?