i’ve never loved, not like they say,
not in that soul-devouring way.
i’ve never been held like i'm the light,
never been kissed like it felt right.’

not the love a parent gives with grace,
i’ve had that—warmth, a safer place.
but not the fire, the fevered kind,
the touch that melts both flesh and mind.

they say love burns, leaves marks so deep,
keeps you awake when you should sleep.
but all i’ve felt is passing skin,
lust that ends where it begins.

i thought i loved, i really tried,
but now i know—i might have lied.
i’ve chased a ghost i never knew,
and every time, it slipped right through.

maybe love’s not mine to find,
maybe it’s written for another kind.
maybe my fate is words on page,
a heart that bleeds but hides its cage.

so i write it down, instead of speak,
my hands are strong, but my voice is weak.
i’m scared to love, to lose control,
to let someone in and not stay whole.

perhaps i’m meant to ache in rhyme,
to love through poems, line by line.
maybe my heart was built to break,
to write the love i’ll never make.