01.27.2023 - 02.06.2023

(i've started writing poetry more often recently so maybe this one isn't as bad as the others? this one is also one of the only poems i've written that are actually about my own feelings. though i still have no idea what i'm talking about.)

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when i'm with you,

my heartbeat is a harmony to your voice

and i fall into your eyes' enticing abyss;

i am drawn in like a planet to a star.

wishes pollute my thoughts like plastic

and as i think of what could be,

i am a butterfly, but you are only a flower

my source of nectar, my sweet oasis.

i dream of the sugar you'd shower me with

but the taste is poisoned

by the bitter guilt coating my tongue.

is it love at all if i'm this selfish?

surely i would not be a butterfly, but a parasite,

draining your lifeblood and claiming it's love

just because it satiates my desire.

i think i have too much greed to love.

but what is "love," really?

is it an idyllic concept

transcendent and indefinite as the universe itself?

a bond with solid layers running deeper

than any river could erode?

boundless altruism, kisses and caresses;

a perfect destiny written in the stars?

or is it something much simpler?

fabricated and sculpted into sublimity

when in reality it melts and simmers down

into the very thing i fear?

maybe no one can love another

without at least a little bit of greed.

maybe love is produced by mutual self-interest

and each loves the other to sustain themselves,

trust and care forged over time like a steel sword.

then, maybe i can think that

my longing to be loved can fuel love itself,

and i am not too selfish to love you

but rather just selfish enough.