Going through old, cringey, unpublished drafts. I try not to write love poetry any more.
...
"Oh I'm not blaming myself for anything, don't you worry."
Love.
Also known as
the making of homes
in human beings.
"You weren't there."
You love the space you've carved
out of my chest, claimed it for yourself,
and used as fuel for your happiness. Taken:
A mirror. A valley of echoes. A stray
glistening word or calloused fingertip.
The mechanics of love.
And now she is strong. An
independent woman not needing
a man to love her, to remind her
of her inherent worthiness. And as for me:
there is no one to blame.
...
"Oh I'm not blaming myself for anything, don't you worry."
Love.
Also known as
the making of homes
in human beings.
"You weren't there."
You love the space you've carved
out of my chest, claimed it for yourself,
and used as fuel for your happiness. Taken:
A mirror. A valley of echoes. A stray
glistening word or calloused fingertip.
The mechanics of love.
And now she is strong. An
independent woman not needing
a man to love her, to remind her
of her inherent worthiness. And as for me:
there is no one to blame.
