So you fancy yourself a martyr.
I hope your ideals swallow you whole.
You will gasp for air and beg for release until
at long last, you plummet
into an acidic pool where
your skin dissolves with any hope of escape.
When you are finally expelled,
your ideals will have made no use of you,
but I think you will feel at ease,
finally in your true form.
Filed under: beliefs, emotions, love, poetry, writing | Tags: emotions, Love, poetry, relationships, writing
Love is neither desperate nor disinterested;
there are no pedestals involved.
It does not beg for change and cry
when it does not come.
It (mostly) does not dwell on angry words
or spit them back.
It strives to be patient, attentive, and kind.
It focuses on passions and talents
and watches them grow.
Love is a dynamic work of art,
ending only when both put down the brush.