I'm not addicted to you, per say,
I'm addicted the 2 am conversations
Where we talk about nothing but
Everything seems to come out.
I'm addicted to the way your voice cracks
When you're tired and you swear me you're not.
Even though I can hear the hum in your voice and haze in your throat.
I'm addicted to the way your brain twirls on end
When you try and comprehend the things you cannot.
I'm addicted to the way your lungs heave in and out,
And how heavenly you look when you can finally breathe.
No, I'm not addicted to you.
I'm addicted to everything that makes you,
You.

What is love?
Is it a bind between two people,
or is it just a statement;
a promise to be lost at a whim?

Is true love real?
Every human has pros,
but they also have their cons.
Are true lovers ignorant to the latter?

And at the end of every day,
where is a human's mind,
but inside their own head?
Thinking their own thoughts
and having their own opinions.

Every bond wears with time,
you may try to mend it tight,
but sometimes it all falls apart.

Sometimes.

The best poems are all about
loss and pain and suffering.
It feels more natural to write a poem
about a long lost memory,
Or a love that never worked.

Poets aren't allowed to be happy.
They’d run out of material to write about.

The words
content and happy
in the same sentence as the word
I'm,
feels like your tongue
never sitting right in your mouth,
like teeth getting in the way
when making out
like an itchy throat,
not going away even after coughing a fit.

The phrases
You are and my boyfriend
can't be a real sentence
like how
unicorns and fairytales
don't exist.
They just feel like
two jigsaw pieces
from different parts of the puzzle
forced to sit beside each other.

The word love
just doesn’t resonate
with the beat of my heart.
Maybe because
my heart stopped beating
a long time ago
and my brain had to carry the workload
so I think twice as much as I should
synonyms?
I overthink.

I may be the only poet
who doesn’t want to be happy;
a ******* clinging to heartbreak,
and loss and pain and suffering.
because it’s easier to let heartbreak
wrap myself in its familiar arms
than to experience an adventure
with happiness wrapped in mine.