Love, Yet Again


Most of the times I feel like I can’t write
Or maybe not that I can’t write but that I shouldn’t write
All I want to write about is love
With all the bad things happening under my nose
Beneath my very own toes
You’d think as a creative type, forward thinker, feminist gal
I would have something better, more powerful to write about
But all I want to talk about is love
I do not understand love not one bit
So I am compelled to write about it, think about it, dream about it
It wraps me up and holds me tight in a blur of confusion, anger, and dangerous want
Mind-blowing want, this crippling want, this exhausting want, this never-ending want
You see, I understand most things and if I don’t I have come to terms with not understanding
But love, you see
Love has made me and love has broken me
And Every time I am close, love slips from my fingertips
Every time I think I’ve got love figured out, it morphs into something unrecognizable
Every time I think I am near, the reality is that I am even further away from love
So I’m writing about love yet again
Because I am at a loss yet again

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