Tenderly 3: {lo(meyou)ve}

my love told me,

    “you’re delicate as a daisy”

i’ll say so,

(me?)

i’m as pretty as can be!
i know so in my heart,
that with any amount of luck
there’ll be no need for me to

pluck

m y p e t a l s a p a r t
without your sunshine
i

might

wilt

away

so shine your rays; i’ll grow back, okay?

no thorns,for you.
oh honey,for you,i’ve fallen.
my love (for you)
tastes sweet as pollen
kisses soft as heather
weathers any weather
touchestendertogether

my love, truly i endeavor
to be your flower forever… and ever…

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Anaesthetic 12: Undelivered Love Letter

Dear love, -the words I write cannot pen your significance to me.
My thoughts are incomprehensible to describe your inner beauty.
And so my every thought of you I’ve attempted to compile,
In this letter, is my failure to express anything worthwhile.

When I look at your face, oh where do I begin?
Just the thought of your smile and wide grin,
Brings my belly butterflies beating their beautiful span,
Floating petal to petal, eight in total, again and again.
Your strong hands I held that revealed a ragged love past,
Hand in hand, working towards making this modest love last.
Offering each other simplicity was all I could ever ask for,
And a soul to talk to at night when stranded in a downpour.
Looking longingly at the moon, I wondered my little game.
If the mysterious moonlit sky for you and I was the same.
And when the sun shines through the fog in the hazy dawn,
You wanted to ask me to brave the fog on your front lawn.
Oh how I wanted to be there arm in arm in the early morning
And wander aimlessly without any direction, without caring.
How happy we were, it seemed to go on without end,
I thought I had truly found love, and my greatest friend.

With love… 

The list we made of all the things we wanted to do together
Will likely remain a memory in this little letter forever, however.

If you had just left me to wonder, would I still be the same?
Would my mess of a life be nearly as messy if you never came?
The only way we realize our own loneliness
Is to have it in stark contrast with its antithesis
Staying locked away hours writing the words I write
Waxing reflexive on this page all day and all night
I think it is finally time to end what I held so dear
So I can finally vanquish the very thing that I fear
But now in the present I can finally thank you so much
For what have I learned since we’ve last touched:

I thought I wanted my heart ripped out,
torn to shreds, bled red in my death bed.
What need was there for it after all this?
The fear of being the only one able to hurt you,
was the same fear of you wounding me grievously,
And yet I feel completely deserving of that pain.
I thought I would rather the blow be dealt swiftly,
Lest my heart be able to love again.
It would be better than the cold bitterness I felt thusly,
It once was a dull and pulsating pain,
An aching anxiety that never once could leave me.
The fear of losing you was the only thing that mattered.
Hopeless, helpless, useless: How futile they are
in describing this despair of my loss.
But my true loss wasn’t the loss of you
It was the missed opportunity to change someone’s life.
My true despair I fear is that strange feeling.
So rid me of your memory, for my mind was rushing
with the regret I’ve carried since we last spoke.
I was helpless to help ease our doubts about us,
Useless to sate your needs, appease your anger,
and worst of all, hopeless to ease your sorrows.
It left me feeling unable to be a person again,
when you left me in my misery, in silence.

So I ask you, without you, would I be off better:
With love, or without this undelivered love letter?

Anaesthetic 11: Butterflies

Oh the butterflies, they’ve never left.
That fleeting feeling of their flight
Felt in my every fluttery breath.
You do still feel it, right?
With our thoughts alight,
Wondering if it was worth it to write
All those things I said to you that night.
Tell me, can you hear my heart’s plight?

My heart is still rapidly beating,
To the rhythm of their wing flaps.
When I was dreaming of our meeting,
I wanted your heart, too, to race laps.
If I were able to say what was on my mind,
I would make you the most flattered person on earth.
Not a better love you could find than mine,
No other love could even begin to compare their worth.

But how does our love compare to a butterfly?
Whose wings are as delicate and fragile since it began,
That which is just as doomed to die,
As long as the emperor’s average lifespan,
Or perhaps a monarch’s, but how could anyone plan
To cut short something so beautiful, so why try?

I try because I thought you would be worth the chance,
Because nothing was ever accomplished without trying,
But for the short time our love, along the petals, danced,
And I didn’t want to stay a pupa without the joy of flying.

Anaesthetic 10: Only Eight Petals

He loves me…

A picture of us under that tree that warm summer day
The smell of dewy leaves and shady earth.
What’s a love that’s faded before it’s come to saturation?
A photo that’s discarded before developing is proof that –

He loves me not?

That which wilts before it blossoms, the eight petals I pluck,
Silenced before the first whisper – the first utterance of love.
Surrounded by curious daisies that seem to sway back and forth
To the rhythm of our heartbeats, I remember it all too well,

Back then, he loves me!

I agonized over that precious gift I gave to you,
The meticulously selected locket of sterling silver,
But it was tarnished before it was even worn,
Seeing it collect dust, I could have sworn that-

He loves me not!

Burned before the initial ignition,
At the mercy of a hasty decision,
Sabotaged before anything was even planned.
It was almost as if you wanted it to end before we started.
 
How could I even think, – “He loves me?”

Excused before I was even accused of any of the worst
Like damage control, and I was some unintended casualty.
Can we truly break up without being together?
But could we be together without you truly broken up?

He loves me not…

How busy we both were when it was hard for us to meet,
Had nothing to do with your inability to love specifically me.
We talked about that woman you used to know.
You said she didn’t matter, but she clearly did,

And yet, – he loves me?

How your friends and family wouldn’t accept the way it was.
It’s awfully convenient how none of those reasons involve you.
Knowing that you couldn’t love me given the circumstances,
Why didn’t you just answer before there was even a question?

“He loves me not…”