Poetry corner: On and Off

In 2017, I’ve been dabbling in poetry. I am not a poet but I have found a love for it. I hope you like and can relate to this piece.


60% of the population is involved in an on and off again relationship.
And we fall right in.
A statistic.
We are a statistic that proves we can’t get our shit together.
We try and we try
Until…
We don’t.
I squeezed and squeezed.
Holding on tight, afraid to let you go.
I held on so tightly, My love caused asphyxiation.
Stifled.
I stopped your breathing.
Oppressed your ability to love me freely.
You ran from me.
On to a place that felt like paradise.
Because my heart no longer felt like your vacation.
Distance.
You got it.
And right when I was ok with seeing you on the horizon, you came in with the tide.
You missed me.
Your vacation from your vacation was over.
No longer needed.
I resisted.
I began to realize I was happier alone.
Without you.
When the stress of trying to keep you dissipated
I found me.
A spirit that seemed anxious eternally was finally free.
Free of rejection,
Sadness and  disharmony.
But still you came.
You  pull at the strings of my heart commanding me to give it another try.
I conceded.
At one point you made me happier than anything in the world.
So I tried.
I had knocked down the walls you forced me to build when you decided you needed space.
Love.
It was happening again.
We were so drawn together that the thought of separation was frightening.
I’d wrap my arms around your neck and stare into your eyes.
Forever.
The word your lips mouthed before they connected to mine.
Connection.
The act our bodies made time and time again.
Our spirits finally aligned and it felt like we were one.
Thump.
The sound your heart made when my ear was against your chest.
Your arms wrapped around me as if leaving this position was unthinkable.
This was beautiful.
But man cannot just admire beauty.
Something in man drives him to destroy anything he finds beauty in.
Maybe I knew this and I began to squeeze too tight again.
Maybe you made shit up to get space again.
Maybe it was just not meant to be.
Maybe.
Maybe we know love not.
We have confused addiction with the confliction Of love.
We.
Are.
Addicted to the euphoria that comes with every breakup.
We are enchanted by the sensation that comes with sex after every makeup.
You love to hear me say it’s yours despite time.
The look on your face when I do my thing is worth every feeling of regret after.
I’m not in love.
But I would love to be.
We know it won’t work but the make up is the win of every breakup and we have no problem doing it again.

Advertisements