AND MAYBE I'M SPEAKING OF LOVE WHEN I SAY


it's just not worth it anymore,
healing the sting of loneliness
while filling a space in my bed.

i'd rather be sick instead,
holding onto everything real
with both hands, negating
the realness with the fear
of losing it completely.

and i can't stand
such paradoxes anymore,
submitting to love
while love lets go.

i can't juxtapose
in such ways knowingly,
pretending i don't care
for someone i do, or
pretending to care
for someone i don't.

i'd find a happy medium
if i believed in happiness...

but i let go instead
never feeling so alone.

telling someone to "fuck off"
that i really just want to hold.

in hopes i'd fill the space
where the rest of me grows old...

'cause i've never been
blonde, or dumb, or young

but think too much
on the simplest of things.

i love you,
and always have

and so what if it translates into
"i like your hair."?