I don’t want a love
that consumes me.
I want one
that reminds me
I exist.
A love that doesn’t ask me
to bleed to prove
I care.
A love that feels like
coming home
to myself.
A poetry library for the things that bruise us, the things that bloom anyway, and everything we become in between.
I don’t want a love
that consumes me.
I want one
that reminds me
I exist.
A love that doesn’t ask me
to bleed to prove
I care.
A love that feels like
coming home
to myself.
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