THIS IS ME, five

THIS IS ME

I am who I am, believing in love. Is it love

that we lack or love that we need more of?

If there will never be enough love, then

why? Or if there is enough love, then how

is it that we are bleeding and gaping howls

of pain? We say we believe in love and yet

we despise each other. In our pain, we send

love away. Love is both sought after and feared.

I met love once, and I too was afraid to love love.



five

five was the loss of innocence. five was believing that the only way to get away would be to move out at eighteen.

five was the forgotten child. five was a quiet child on the outside and wild on the inside.

five was making a pattern of tiles in art class. five was music. five was discovering words.

five was daydreaming in school, wanting to be outside. five was falling in love with a tree out back and not knowing why. not caring.

five was running down the hill and cutting five's hand. five should have gotten stitches. but didn't. five got a scar instead and it is still there these years later.