I really shouldn't worry anymore.

It gets tiresome and pointless

I need to stop ending my sentences with

I think.

Because I know.

Like SHE said. This is true, I know that much.

The sentence: I love HER

Doesn't need to end with anything

That would belittle it

Like everyone I know belittles me

Mocks my anger, my sorrow, my writing

(It would figure they read my shit

But can't be bothered with something I'm proud of)

SHE can write real love poems

A skill I haven't yet got

Is it possible

That I love not wisely

But too well?

That I can put myself up there

With classic literary figures?

I want to. I want to find a metaphor that fits

That isn't

Romeo and Juliet. Because they die. And they

Were dumbasses. Not gonna lie.

It's impossible to say though

I choke up

Stagger over what I thought I'd never have

And now treasure so much

I want to be there in the winter

Where there is ice to walk over

Just so I can get an excuse to hold her hand

And glide slow over frozen asphalt

(I fell on ice, actually, the other day, though….)

It'll be too warm when I can actually hold her

I'll dress in all white

Like Lawrence of Arabia

But without the psychotic urge to kill people

Because that's been buried in a snowy grave

And it can't claw its way out of the frosted ground.

Say it

Scream it

Explode with it

This is what they meant

This is why people compose poems

That are so bad

Like mine

Lately

Want?

Desire?

Wish?

Miss?

Hear?

A, B, C, D, or All of the Above?

E, obviously.

And let's add F.

For…

Love.

I'll say it soon.

Give me the word, sweetheart.

I'll make an affirmation

To you

Because I'm done thinking about it

I've come to that conclusion that I knew I would

And my poetry's gone downhill

Not your fault…

It's my own

It's this thing that makes me sticky and slow

My brain can't really compute

But my heart's in control

(My heart's not nearly as well spoken,

If you haven't gathered.)

And I'll say it.

As a sentence.

I love you.