I think love is wonderful.
When I imagine it, I see fingers intertwined.
Cuddles on the couch.
I see two people opening themselves up fully to one another—
and not running away from what they find.

My version of love is everything that should be...
not what I, as a little girl, have seen.
My version of love holds no place for control.
No room for lies dripping in sugar.
In my version of love, you hold each other up.
You make each other better,
and everything feels lighter when you're together.

Because, hey—
nothing says "I don't love you" like screaming words behind closed doors.
Like the emptiness of countless sorries.
Like trying not to set a person off
who is supposed to be your "significant other."

My love is... confusion.

I don't know if I can catch feelings.
My butterfly-catching net is frayed and torn,
so they just keep flying away.
It seems so easy and natural for them...
I just wish I knew for sure.

Could love ever be in the air?
Or is friendship truly where the line ends?

I've been so focused on self-love and self-growth
that I've not been able to see beyond me.
When I try,
there is only emptiness—
and more questions.

What I want to know is this:
Why can't me, myself and I be enough?
Why does everyone I meet
see me as incomplete
without a man or woman on my arm?

I know I love my things,
my music and my art.
Tisane, quiet contemplation,
and poetry.

Maybe the loves I've seen
have left my heart scattered.
Maybe The One is still out there...
but maybe they just aren't.

Kissing is weird.
*** is weird.
It's almost always the last thing on my mind—
it's just not something that I crave.

Let alone trying to get someone
to like me enough
to even want to do those things with me—
seems like so much EFFORT.

...is being alone really so bad?

Maybe I'm not built for romance,
but GODS does it seem wonderful...
I just don't know if that kind of love is for me.

The woman and the girl
are one in the same

She finds joy in wall rainbows,
And loves the rain

She makes crockery
Imprinted with dinosaurs,
She likes shopping at thrift stores
For clothing that screams whimsy -

Beaded necklaces,
dark velvet
And cute embroidery

Videogames
With quests primeval,
And moral threads
That aren’t so medieval

They whisper,
“There’s more to the journey
than simply good vs evil.”

                        
                                              The void still exists -
                                                  That gaping abyss

                                                           Cold as glass,
                                                         But weightless

                                              It does not pull now
                           She can stare all she likes now
                              It's all but a fascinating sight

                                              There is no question
                                                     Whether to stay,
                                                                     Or to go

                        Eleven was such a long time ago

Twenty three years of age
She works, and she plays
Oh, she plays!
Controller in hand
The Sims is the plan -
A boring play-style, really,
Fulfilling her what if's
Of marital bliss

                                  What a twist

Cascades of pixelated children
"I think I'll name her.....
Quellcrist!"