My love for you is not candy sweet,
It's not a cotton candy word that melts in my mouth,
It's not a gum that becomes flavorless over time,
And it's not a hard lollipop that inflicts pain.
My love for you is flowers,
Not the type that grows in the gardens,
Not the ones in the wild,
And not the ones in your words when you speak.
But My love for you is flowers,
Those flowers that grow in your lungs,
A disease that is caused by the buried seed of affection,
Roots entwined around my heart,
Seeking freedom, choking breath.
My love for you is flowers,
Perched on the tip of my tongue,
Restricting words with their allure,
Hidden thorns bleeding at my core.
My love for you is flowers,
Never merely "flowery",
Never Eros and Mania,
But enduring Pragma,
And the bittersweet bloom of Hanahaki.
Hand pick each one, my love,
Save me by picking every piece of petals that are now mine,
You can say her name and ask the petals if she loves you or loves you not,
Just pick up the flowers and save my heart,
For loving you is living for you,
Allow me to live and love you,
Use the shovel of your tenderness to kill the roots inside me,
For my love for you is a dangerous flower,
But, my love, let me breathe even just a little better.
YOU ARE READING
Dolor: Poetry of the unspoken
PoetryCollection of original poems as a way of expressing the author's unsaid thoughts and emotions. A coping mechanism of regretting the "what if's" and haunting forethought. Note that all the poems published are originally my work. Do not post it in an...
