Love and I: A Poem in Three Parts


I was once told the way I love was “too much.”
I didn’t understand.
Was the love too deep? Too needy? Too obsessive?
Did I give too much, or not enough?
How could I feel so inadequate, so “not enough,” and still be called “too much”?
There is a loneliness in the way I love, now.
A fearfulness, now.
A worry not to give too much away, or I’ll be caught out.
“Aha,” they’ll say. These people I love so dearly, these people I adore.
“There it is. The raw aching neediness.”
“Look at her. So weak.”
So I struggle not to suffocate them.
I suffocate in loneliness instead.
Hesitant over every touch
Holding back every gesture
Always taut, ready to back away, ready to run.
It feels like a curse to be blessed with so many beautiful people in my life.
And still worry, now, always, constantly, that if I showed them the depths of my affection
I’ll lose them
Knowing, as humans are still social beings,
that if I don’t show enough, I’ll lose them
And I resent the unfairness of it all
Love shouldn’t be this tied to fear
Love shouldn’t be this lonely
This ache a perpetual gaping wound
This need like a throbbing pulse
“Too much.”
“Too much.”
“Too much.”


I pledge allegiance to love, unconditional, pure
I pledge allegiance to kindness.
I pledge allegiance to acceptance
I pledge allegiance to joy for joy’s sake, to guiltless pleasures

I pledge allegiance to equality, and equity, and justice
I pledge allegiance to freedom without harm
I pledge allegiance to movement
I pledge allegiance to nature
I pledge allegiance to being able to spell allegiance 10 times fast
I pledge allegiance to the people who sweep the streets, who plant the trees, who make the coffees that keep us going, the people who power our cities and who are the vertebrae of the spine that holds up our societies
I pledge allegiance to my sister
I pledge allegiance to my friends
I pledge allegiance to love
I pledge allegiance to love
I pledge allegiance always, forever, to unconditional love.


Always such a dichotomy
Between who I am and who I want to be
Between fear to love and loving fearlessly
Between not enough and enough
Between holding back and that brush of touch

Always such a cliche
A Gemini with two sides that hold sway
Caught between silence and the things I want to say
Caught between leaving and wanting to stay

Always trite words that can’t encapsulate
All the swirling things inside of me
Holding my breath so they can’t escape
Constantly waiting for the moment I can exhale


Loving you is like loving an animal half-tamed
Learning patience when you leave, always wishing that you’d stay
Always careful not to push, always letting you lead the way
You wild thing, you
So kind and sweet and gentle
But always so afraid

My love for you is tender, but it burns in constant flame
Craving every secret brush of touch, every lilting of my name
Every smile from you is a victory, every laugh, every praise
But I fear you’ll find my need too great, so I bury it away

I will love you on your terms, wildling, if it keeps you close to me.

Anxiety Attack

It’s so soft and sad,
this quiet inner crumpling
Shaky foundations crumbling
Pent up emotion stumbling
flowing upward, outward,
heart thumping

Breaths turn into gasps
Gasps turn into sobs
Eyes burn with tears
Throat rasps
Time stops
Head pounding with dark thoughts
Stomach turning itself in knots
No room for logic when it’s fear
calling all of the shots

in the pillars holding everything up
Barely keeping things together
and it all just feels too much
Body and soul a giant bruise
that aches at the barest touch

a shame
Pain, with no foreseeable end
Falling apart over and over
struggling to mend
what little can be patched up
until it happens yet again.

A Self-Aware Poem

I am,
as the cliche goes,
a mess of contradictions.
Conflicting depictions of self
fighting to emerge
(None with conviction.)

I am,
as the cliche goes,
unsure of who I am, really.
Never sure what thoughts are my own,
never certain of what I’m feeling.

These trite words are all I have.
None of which convey
the real sense, the real heart of the thing
This thing
This cliched struggle inside of me.

I feel too deeply.
I am too earnest.
Pretending that the rage, the love, the despair inside
isn’t the blasting furnace that it is
Hiding grand gestures behind small ones
Suppressing pain
Until it all festers, boils over, merges
And it all starts to feel the same:
Hopeless, and useless
and utterly inane.

Isn’t that how the story always goes?
To reveal too much is to risk rejection.
And when you (I) already feel so worthless
is it worth the risk?
Showing myself? Being proven right?
(Oh god, but what if I finally find connection?)
(Oh god, I am so tired of walking on eggshells.)

I feel too deeply.
I am too earnest.
Heart on my stupid sleeve.
Always struggling to please.
Always hoping to be seen.
Always hiding, hiding, hiding
because who could really love all the earnest, eager,
scarred and scared parts of me?

Bending over backwards.
Trying to be what people need.
Tiptoe, don’t impose, don’t suppose.
Be more, be better, be useful
You (I) don’t matter
I’m just here to fill a role.

More triteness that doesn’t make sense.
Taking up too much space, worthless words, weak rhymes.
A summary of all this stuff:
I am,
as the cliche goes,
always too much.
Yet I will never be enough.


Robert Frost wrote,
“Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.”
Anger is both.
It is all-consuming
And my mouth tastes sulfur
And my throat feels charred
Witches would cower at my insides if they saw
(And Hades would feel at home)
silence reigns
Screams are hushed down to nothing
Cold winds blow
And there is nothing anymore
(Or so the iceberg would have you believe
As it waits for you to sink)
There is a sense of stillness, of Zen,
when it comes to such cold fury
Medusa’s snake hair would be envious of my stare
My anger is the end of the world.
Touch me and you’ll freeze.
Touch me, and you’ll burn.

Words Are Useless

I dreamt of words that free and that bind
Of words from heart and words from mind
Words so cruel, words so kind
Words that reveal, words that blind

I dreamt of words bitter and sweet
Of words that fool and words that teach
Words better read, words made for speech
Words of small consequence, words of far reach

I dreamt of words of love and hate
Of words that destroy and words that create
Words of agreement, words of debate
Words that bring together, words that separate

I dreamt of words of hope and light
Of words crouched in weakness, words standing in might
Words that feel wrong, words that feel right
Words from the unrepentant, words from the contrite

I dreamt of words hidden within screams
Of words about reality and words about dreams
Words respectable, words obscene
Words that err, words that redeem
Words filled with sorrow, words full of glee
Words of generosity, words of greed

I dreamt of words that praise and defame
Of words that alter and words that stay the same
Words excitingly mad, words boringly sane
Words that don’t stick, words that remain
Words of pride, words of guilt and shame

I dreamt of words of anger and reprimand
Of words that give and words that demand
Words of the sea, words of the land
Words small and simple, words complicated and grand

I dreamt of words whispered and yelled
Of words organised and words thrown pell-mell
Words all in motion, words that stood still
Words of friendly greeting, words of sad farewell

I dreamt of words of peace and war
Of words despised and words adored
Words from the present, words from before
Words for tomorrow and forever more

I dreamt of words of prose and rhyme
Of words of innocence and words of crime
Words for forgetting, words to remind
Words of dark sin, words pure and divine

I dreamt of words of ugliness and beauty
Of words irresponsible and words of duty
Words that spoke of desire, words that poured with need
Words burning in passion, words hollow in apathy

I dreamt of words and they consumed me whole
Stripped me down and laid bare my soul
And when I woke, I woke in pain
For the very last thing they spelled was, “Words without action…
…are words in vain.”

Inspired by a strange dream, where I could take hold of words. Some slipped from my hands, some were in bold, others normal. Different fonts, meanings, textures. Jolted awake and wrote as much as I could before I couldn’t any more. Continued throughout the day. Changing, adding. Here’s the final cut. There’s no particular order, really, except the structure of the verses.

Howl at the moon in desperate plea
without preamble or fear, beg to be free
Want the chains broken, the ropes to be cut
Want to escape but don’t know from what~

Head for the ocean (the moon’s domain after all)
Stand on a cliff and get ready to fall
High tide or low, either way, be crushed
But on the way down, God what a rush…

Maybe that’s where salvation lies
the lowest of low (so why aim for the skies?)
Those who managed to fly on tattered wings are famous but rare
Doesn’t seem to be a solid foundation for castles in air~

However this all began with the moon
a beautiful orb with no light of its own
A beacon of hope for those lost in the black
that maybe one day they’ll make it back

(Where?) To the skies where all truly belong
Tattered wings are wings still so go on, be strong
If even an inch you can get off the ground
Keep going higher, forget the way down

(Why?) There are castles up there and they all await
Who needs foundations for our own Heaven’s gate?
And even if you keep trying and never make it at all
At least you’ll get to feel the rush of the fall~

Take me with you


are the strings that bind us

knit so close yet stretched so far apart; tapestry

extending across oceans. Deserts.
Merciless, this distance
etched into the fabrics of our hearts and throbbing painfully
Where are you going? Where are you now?
I miss you. Stitch yourself closer? Or,
travel if you must, but do not let the string break
Have your adventure, but let there be slack between
your knot and mine, entangling around us, tying us together
Our perfect connection, no matter the miles, is bitter yet sweet
Undeniably, however, I need you near me. Please.

Crash and Burn

Carve out my insides and leave me bare
for the vultures to consume
Let them claw, rip, peck and tear
until there’s nothing left to exhume

Crush my bones beneath your heels
till I am but a pile of dust
This movie’s over, end of the reel
I surrender myself to the Reaper’s trust

My broken armour should remain where it lies
dented metal, dried blood and all
It’s this soldier’s time to die
and my armour shall serve as a reminder:
Even those who stand strongest-
crawl on hands and knees longest-
break down at last.
And even saviours, “Angels”…
…eventually fall. 


Watch yourself. Be careful now.
The anger’s building up again…
You can’t see it yet I fear,
but the beast is rising from its den
and this pen will become my sharp weapon

But forget writing curses, I’ll draw blood,
then drag you rough across the mud,
my face expressionless, eyes cold as ice
If you don’t heed my warning, pay the price
Bites ravaging your helpless skin
as I relish in
one of the deadly sins:


Destruction is its path
The mood never lasts,
but once it’s over, too late
the damage is wholly done
The memory will haunt you,
there’s no cleaning that slate,
So before you see something you can’t forget,
darling, I suggest you run

Yes, please turn back before I react
and these walls c r a c k
and the monster I hold within attacks
with its heart of black…
Because there’s no controlling it once it’s out
Merciless, so have no doubt
this thing’s thirsting for blood to spout and
there’s venom dripping from its mouth.
Silent yet deadly,
Don’t get me angry.
Because I get psychotic.