Don’t Love Me, I’m A Writer.

Please don’t touch my soul,
Not with those hands, black as coal.
As I would relive every single moment,
For years on end.
And in my poetry, you would see your name,
Like it was mine to reinvent.

Our memories would stay trapped in my heart ,
As I am dramatic; an exclamation mark enveloped in mortal skin.
So I would turn our love experience into a hundred different stories told to the world,
I refuse to keep it hidden.

I would find a way to describe you
Your smile, humour, wit;
With as many nouns and adjectives as the dictionary permits.
I would paint pictures of your eye watering physique,
So engulfed in your masculinity, my legs felt weak.

I would throw in hints of past times indicating nostalgia,
Hormones burned hot, even our drinks were up in flames.
I would throw in inside jokes;
Mostly dry and somewhat impenetrable,
While reinstating that it’s a me problem.

I would drag our few seconds of love for as long as I can manage:
For as long as my heart can endure
Because the moment I begin to lose my memories,
I lose my melodies.
I’ll have no stories to tell, no inspiration,
No paintings to create, no blood drawn illustrations,
No poetry.

So please, leave your mark on me but not painfully.


You Don’t Love Me.

While I hold my half empty bottle of sweet smelling red wine,
I look at you in dismay,
Because, you don’t love me,
You just love the way that my hips sway,
And twist and turn.
Knowing it doesn’t matter how far I drift,
I would always return,
To a place of convenience.
And once again it was your turn,
To have and to hold,
My physical form.
Because frail as I am,
I’m a perfect shelter from your temporary emotional storm.
A replacement, a substitute,
A woman willing to conform.
You don’t love me, you love that I can perform,
Tips and tricks like you’ve never seen before,
Do you find your mind wandering?
Are images of me still lingering?
In your mind, your memories,
Your deeply buried fantasies.
You don’t love me, you love that I’m broken.
Hurt beyond repair,
Clearly forsaken.
Tossed around like I was theirs to share,
Theirs to acquire. Theirs to devour.
Just let me be while I ache in silence.


Me Too.

You make me smile and laugh and roll my eyes in attempt to hide my affection,

Hide my excitement,

Conceal the fact that you make me feel beautiful, brilliant, deserving of attention.

With you, I experience unfamiliar emotions;

Effervescence, comfort, the list goes on.

In the absence of your presence, a sense of nostalgia,

My spirit begins to hunger,

And thirst and crave your company.

Indeed, weeks feels like an eternity,

And a few conversations, a lifetime of understanding,

Because you are kind and you are impressive,

Exquisite and enthralling,

Extremely excessive.

You live and you love,

Travel to explore,

Live beyond my imagination,

With no boundaries, no limitation.

So when you said ‘I love you’,

The core of my existence screamed ‘me too’,

Because thick as my walls were,

You were able to break through.


All You Had To Do Was Love Me. 

I heard people talk
Down the hallways, on the sidewalk.
The whispers got louder, I heard them too.
It shouldn’t have mattered how much it hurt you
Because it hurt me a thousand times more.
If only you asked me just once, it would have been something you knew.
All you had to do was choose me over mere rumours.

While voices soared and a deep feeling of resentment set in,
I chose to lend a deaf ear to carnal words, chose not to feel.
Believed that I saw you and your intentions buried underneath all that tough skin.
Until the wounds made cuts so deep, it took forever to heal.
And attitudes were altered, only revealing the once hidden monster.
All you had to do was see who I was even in the midst of anger.

In these last moments,
I can’t help but dwell on nothing but my defeat.
It’s been years of battling with bottled up anger.
Staring out the window because I only feel at peace once I let my mind wander.
Filtering through memories; both good and bad, heartbreaking and romantic.
This can’t be right, things were supposed to get better.
Like many others, our bittersweet love story would always be tragic
Because all you had to do was love me.


Love Me. 

This was supposed to be a ‘Find me, Love me, Marry me’ trilogy which I planned on writing four years ago (here). How I completely neglected this for that long is beyond me. Maybe I’d wait another 4 years to write the last part. Anyway, here it goes…

Love Me!

I know that I am difficult
And sometimes rude.
I am fierce, strong
And my anger, not easily subdued.
My mind is quick to conclude
And I’m uncomfortable each time you step into my place of solitude.
But I want you to love me
So I can be free.

I am not an easy person to want
Not with this attitude, so nonchalant.
I’ve grown so accustomed to putting up a front
So I can not bring you comfort.
Not in the way that makes you impatient
Not in the way that makes you complacent.
But I want you to love me
Like I was pure, like I was innocent.

I will constantly push you away
And fight to keep queer feelings at bay.
Reluctantly, I find serenity your company
Your smell, your taste
Unsettling but weirdly satisfying embrace.
But this is becoming familiar territory
So I want you to love me

I have nothing to offer
Except this thick skin, this impermeable heart.
But even these set me apart
Because on the days where you feel weak and lost at sea,
I know I would be strong for you and me.
So even though I may be difficult and sometimes rude,
You better find a way to love me
In the best way that you could.