A Whisper Of A Metaphor (Poetry)

for her

Every Time I look at her
butterflies flutter like her eyelashes
with symmetrical beauty
hypnotised in a sticky stupor of self-destruct.

a relationship is beautiful
to all but my mind
as it considers my looks and my weight
and all the things I should hate
about me.

but today, only today, I felt her kiss
and the sweet but bitter taste of hope on her lips
my hands on her waist and hers in my hair
fingers tangled in our love story (and the mess that I left there).

but as much as I love her and oh god do I love this
and the fact that her lips taste like vanilla and bliss
I know that eventually I would spiral
as my thoughts tangle themselves with the negative hiss.

I know - even when we talk lightly of deep confusion
and where we will go next -
that no matter what I say it'll hold no weight
and will end in sadness and arguments over text.

'This is what's best' I tell the flutter in my chest
because this self-destruct button
- that looks so enticing to press -
would destroy her and the rest
of what we had.

and my darling, my love, my dear
if there's one thing I know after (almost) sixteen years
it's that I don't want to live in this world
and if I do, I don't want to live without you being here.

-M
I did a thing.