we are terribly young
impulsive, selfish, finding beauty
in the chaos we become.
living to taunt and beckon,
thrashing like reeled fish in a small pond
the sun warm on our hair
the soil itching beneath our intertwining fingers
our feet racing on pavement,creating
a melody for only our ears.
voices within us slumbering, beasts opening their great eyes
rumbling in their soft, siren voices
to touch
a little less gently
to bite a little harder
to snap the line, unless we are to become our mothers and fathers-
a portrayal of another's mind,
to gamble our lives, to live foolishly
in a room stacked
upon older paintings
ones of oil and chalk.
plants growing along the windows
and her scent
lingering among the walls
beauty
is subjective
they murmur as i mourn
tearing your face from my mind
as i shiver in its wake
they tell me
that i should have touched a little gentler, bit
a little softer
i should have let you reel me in if only
to spare the love my lungs had to offer
YOU ARE READING
inadequate love✔
Poetrysometimes we fall in love with the wrong people. and we stay with them, because we think that our love is enough to mold them into the person we want them to be. it never is. and the inadequacy of your love will hurt you. you will wonder why you...
