09/12: unfinished ramblings

nothing makes a better artist

than a broken heart.

i realised this the clearest

the day i fell for art.

"chase your dreams. the sky is the limit,"

my father would tell me often.

but you're the sun, moon, and all the stars;

do you understand my problem?

i'll say this only once: i love you—

but only occasionally. is that a thing?

i don't always love you this much,

but when i do, it's incredibly energizing.

how do i even begin to describe

the awkward yet perfect manner

my heart positions itself inside

my chest when you and i are together?

yet when you speak of him it emulates firewood,

the way it is torn and cracked by an axe,

thrown with its pieces and set ablaze,

abandoned for good in mountain-like ash.

see, i never thought i could hate a part of you

until i saw with my heavy eyes last semester

how your wrists curved perfectly as you wrote

his initials on the edges of scraps of paper.

this is all a game for you, i am aware.

everything for you is calculated:

the touch, the teasing, the stare.

you leave me hungry and you, satiated.