I can start all and every of these poems
and every sentence
with your smile alone.
You ask me what’s worrying me,
what’s trying to downplay the whole thing.
But it hurts less if we deny it, doesn’t it?
It appears as if it only makes sense
when we are doing it right,
so I have been working on it.
I have been trying
to be more than just okay.
I have been questioning the heavens
if it has some space for my mind,
for my thoughts,
I have been quizzing with the hell
if it’s ready for me.
The poets often write themselves into
deep romance of the words resembling
always kiss me and goodnight
the stars are pretty tonight.
Sometimes I feel like I have a long way
to go in this safari full of blood and love.
I really have had enough of both.
I have given so much away
but I never keep any for myself.
It flushes my artistic life
with bombardment of you.
It makes me a smoker of madness
and a drinker of sentences made for love.
I still break apart,
only to find you again,
probably because I love you
not just that I dramatize that I love you.
Remember the last time?
When everyone was watching me,
I was looking at you.
But I promise,
I’ll always help you in escaping me.
I am really stretching myself to be okay,
I have these little patches and painkillers,
but in truth,
I guess time is much needed.