I have had the pleasure
of falling in love twice.
The first was safe and warm,
a home where everything is nice.
The second though, I suppose
was more like something of a vice.
In which I'm
torn by your tatters that entice.
The first one I always knew
could never be.
The second could,
but simply would
choose not to want me.
What love brought more pain?
I do not know.
But that for different reasons
I would watch them both go.
I think of it very little til I must lie down to sleep.
And realize I've made a habit of loving those I cannot keep.
YOU ARE READING
What We Wouldn't Say Aloud
PoetryAnd it's in these moments, when all we can do is feel that one begins to whisper words into paper.
