I have found myself a home

- 009

I want to love like how the poets write. Like how every muses existing in every universe is considered God. I want to be loved like the perfectly constructed stanzas of adoration. Like how I bury my face between my palm out of frustration, like how I call out to the sun to become its muse. I love being the artist in front of the canvas tapping and creating something the world has never seen before about my muse but sometimes I want to feel like how it is to be on the other end. To be the one sitting, to be the one who is adored, to be the subject of every poems, to be the sun, to be the only one. I want to love like how the poets love. To crawl on the mud, to be begged for, to be the one being prayed to. I want to love like how the fucking artist love. To be carefully drawn with all the love and carefulness, to not be ruined. I want to love like how a sculptor loves. I want to love like how the rain falls, I want to love like how the songs sounds. I want to love the way I love. I want to adore, I want to write about love. I want to be like every other poet crying trying to erase the name they wanted to forget. I want to love like how the sun never meets the moon. I want to love like how the moon continues to rise. I want to love in the most impossible way, to be icarus, to fall to my death while reaching for the height I couldn't.

As I breathlessly aim for the words I wish to express about the loneliness I felt in the form of love, I wanted to be adored. Call me pretty, call me yours, call me by your name, call me baby, call me in the name the Gods bestowed upon me, do you see me, do you see my wings? My feathered soft wings? Do you see my halo? Do you see the horns? Do you see the desperation in every breath I take?

When I smile at you. When I hold your hands. When I tell you I miss you. When my love is conditioned just so you could love me back. When I run and run and fail to be what I wanted to be. When I ran towards the sea, when the sea stops me at my tracks, when the sand continues to devour me, when the sunset is my lifeline, when the horizon is what it means to be alive. I fucking hate the idea of being restricted on being the muse. I fucking hate being the one filling in the canvas. I fucking hate crawling on the sand, I fucking hate the sky, I fucking hate the birds flying, I fucking hate feeling liberation, I fucking hate the desperation of begging to be the one. To be the one loved by everyone. I hate— being me.

The complication of what I feel.

When loving like a poet can be found in June, when the rain fell on us. When the late night talks lasted up until 3 am. When I slept on your bed and you did not move, afraid to wake me up. When loving like a sculptor exists in the photos I took of you. With all the carefulness, trying to capture what you are to me. When loving like an artist exists on every single thing I have written of you. When I ran towards the sun, when I walked towards the rain, when the world felt endless, when my hands wrote you. When I watch the windows, when I observe people that are passing by, when I begged you to love me. When my knees are bleeding from shaving, when my body uncontrollably shakes out of anxiety, when I trace you. When I miss you. When I loved you, the way the poets write.