Thinking About The Casual Intimacy Of Showing Someone You Love An Unfinished Work Of Art, The Underlying

thinking about the casual intimacy of showing someone you love an unfinished work of art, the underlying message saying, i trust you with my unpolished heart

it’s a chilly autumn morning. you are snuggled in bed, vaguely aware of a rhythmic pattering on your roof, and dim cool light in your room. you fall back to sleep, dreaming of nothing but warmth and comfort. you awaken again, a few seconds before a a soft rumbling of thunder sounds. you have nothing to do today but listen and enjoy

Hate your love

when you said you liked my curls,

i spent hours

straightening them out.

you complimented

the calm blue of my nails,

so i painted them a fiery red.

then the skirts left my knees bare,

unlike the denim that kept them warm

before you said i looked good in jeans.

and the day your fingers tied

the laces of my high tops,

i replaced them with stilettos,

the heels as sharp as my tongue

slipping poison onto yours.

i didn't mind when your hands

grazed the flesh of my cheek;

after all, i craved it.

i wanted your lips chasing mine,

needing to stain them

the shade of my new lipstick,

wanted the pads of your fingers leaving icy trails

down the heat of my skin.

i craved your touch,

but i resented your affection.

with every change i made,

i swore to never be

what you wanted me to.

entangled in my fabrications,

deceived by a false sense of control,

little did i know,

that you had me

exactly where you wanted me.

i couldn't recognize myself anymore

and you loved every part of me.

“I’m lost. And it’s my own fault. It’s about time I figured out that I can’t ask people to keep me found.”

— Anne Sexton, A Self-Portrait In Letters

too much

is there such a thing as

too much love?

can you love someone too much?

to the point where it's overflowing.

it grows until there's no more space;

until you can't breathe.

the love,

it consumes you.

it consumes your thoughts,

your time,

your emotions,

your entire being.

it twists and turns,

growing and changing,

until you don't recognize it anymore.

until you don't recognize yourself.

it doesn't matter though,

because you'll love every moment of it.

even the parts you hate

you'll love;

you've got too much of it anyway.

“Start now. Start where you are. Start with fear. Start with pain. Start with doubt. Start with hands shaking. Start with voice trembling but start. Start and don’t stop. Start where you are, with what you have. Just… start.”

— Ijeoma Umebinyuo