my love poem unraveled .
i tried to piece my feelings together ,
first knitting the furry anxiety i feel when our pulses greet .
i attempted to glue the metaphors together to manifest the raw, broken, choppy laugh my stomach produces from this love .
i struggle to braid the blush of the stars , the grass, and gravel when we are ... us.
like a lanyard, i slip in the day kisses, the PDA, and pull tight on the soft yanks of my waste .
i want to put together the chocolate-dipped relentless faith in one another .
braid the butterflies, the time spent searching eyes, the weak whispers birthing smiles, the finger tips dancing on necks .
but it keeps unraveling .
when i walk away from my failed masterpiece, i step and CRACK .
i pick up the beads of personified skepticism & ask where it came from .
then, a string of miscommunication imagery has meshed to the back of my sweater .
i open the door to find the pieces of heartbreak similes, neighborhood gossip, and illusion allusions scattered across the floor .
i dont want these in my love poem . My fairy-bitten, cotton candy, sparkly, pink perfect poem . i dont want these elements in my love poem , but without them . . . my love poem cannot live . without our f*cked up beads, and passionate clumsy strings of yarn: without our mushiness that provokes puke . . . my love poem falls apart .
my love poem unraveled . a counterfeit recant of love can never exist if it's meant to be beautiful .
i tried to piece my feelings together ,
first knitting the furry anxiety i feel when our pulses greet .
i attempted to glue the metaphors together to manifest the raw, broken, choppy laugh my stomach produces from this love .
i struggle to braid the blush of the stars , the grass, and gravel when we are ... us.
like a lanyard, i slip in the day kisses, the PDA, and pull tight on the soft yanks of my waste .
i want to put together the chocolate-dipped relentless faith in one another .
braid the butterflies, the time spent searching eyes, the weak whispers birthing smiles, the finger tips dancing on necks .
but it keeps unraveling .
when i walk away from my failed masterpiece, i step and CRACK .
i pick up the beads of personified skepticism & ask where it came from .
then, a string of miscommunication imagery has meshed to the back of my sweater .
i open the door to find the pieces of heartbreak similes, neighborhood gossip, and illusion allusions scattered across the floor .
i dont want these in my love poem . My fairy-bitten, cotton candy, sparkly, pink perfect poem . i dont want these elements in my love poem , but without them . . . my love poem cannot live . without our f*cked up beads, and passionate clumsy strings of yarn: without our mushiness that provokes puke . . . my love poem falls apart .
my love poem unraveled . a counterfeit recant of love can never exist if it's meant to be beautiful .
Very hearted. I loved it.
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