if I wrote you a love poem, it would probably sound a lot like a lament for something that’s already dead. It would probably sound like something that’s been left in the rain for days.

a love poem from me would probably sound a lot like the first time I fell off a bike, how that was the first time I was introduced to my own blood and how I found it so beautiful that I only wanted to look at myself from the inside-out. I bet it would sound like an orchestra out of practice, like a prayer but in a cemetery. I bet a love poem from me would sound like hands that prick and a heart that doesn’t remember it’s own beat. I bet it would sound like an empty museum. a love poem from me would probably look like a rose with too many thorns, or a siren, something beautiful that leads you to your death. I bet it would only be half complete because I have never experienced a love that didn’t break. see, I would write you a love poem but I don’t know how to write about love and not call it a graveyard.

I would write you a love poem but my definition of love can be anything between blowing a kiss and creating a fist.