introspection at ungodly hours.

those three syllables that drank from tropical
waters, grew roots that tapped into the alveoli
of a balloon that was filled entirely with whispers
of your name. i recite poetry, hoping carefully
honed words will pierce through it, popping
every past, present and future poem about you
into a loud steadfast stream of tenderness,
ebbing away at the heart until it loses all
memory of you.

i write of you far too often;
cramming you in spaces you don’t belong.
i want to reclaim the sunsets – i’m tired of
amaranth reminding me of your reddened
cheeks. i want the sea to be romantic again;
lapping at my feet with hope, not a reminder
of your complexity or how i almost asphyxiated
in you. i want collarbones to be just that,
and not the perfect place to burrow into
when the world is storming again.

sometimes, i think of you in the gentlest light,
a lone star burning dimly in the night sky –
you knew i would’ve been consumed in an
inferno of passion, left desolate like the way
poets are when they love too much.
other times, you’re cruel, plucking flowers
by the root before they even blossom,
stealing beauty from an already stark
world.

i'm sorry,
i never learned to
love myself.