i am not a love song
i do not yearn, i do not long
i am not a love song
back and forth,
like a game of ping pong.
i do not rhyme
(i guess unless i do)
i do not pine
(i guess unless it’s you).
i am not on the verge of heartbreak
i am not filled with endless hope
my pride is not yours to take
even at the bottom of my rope.
i am not internal conflict
waiting for what i don’t possess
i refuse to follow that script
i refuse to settle for less.
i am not a love song
dreaming of sunsets of pink and red and orange,
i am not a love song
unless—
no, wait
until—
oh no.
i am swirling and i am falling
and i am pining and yearning
and waiting and thinking
and
and
shit.
i am still not a love song
even though i’ve fallen in love,
giving up structure
and the rules i have for myself,
letting the walls fall and crash down,
like an explosion we couldn’t prepare for,
the turmoil has hit
and my stomach in knots,
and i had been doing so well until i stopped doing so well.
how did this happen?
clinging to order
really an act of self-preservation,
because you can’t get hurt if you don’t love in the first place,
and if you don’t get hurt there is no reason for that love song,
and so i ignore the cracks in my foundation,
and keep going,
until it catches up with me.
i am not a love song—
though, maybe in some ways i am.
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