i learned to love the poetry in being alive
i am capturing you like i am collecting water in my hands to build a new ocean. this is what it takes to build a love, i think, and we have both loved with more scar tissue than skin, we have both been burned by the cities we grew up in. but somehow i still believe in summertime, and the moon watching over us both. i don’t know where it all comes from. i’ll make metaphors out of flowers, i’ll present them to you on bended knee.
or maybe i’ll just let them bloom. capture them like i learned to capture young love on a summer afternoon. and it will never leave me lonesome again.
i learned to love whatever is in front of me with a heart like a new promise. i learned to love the world, no matter how many wars its raged, both on its body and mine. i have held many hearts like they were porcelain, or freshwater in a barren land, no matter what they think of me. i learned to love the poetry in being alive, though it has beaten me to the ground more times than it has granted me grace. i learned to see things in the skyline and let them be, whether or not i make metaphors of them, whether or not they leave me blinded when they are gone.