Love Poem 2

When I think of the love I want

and when I dream about the love I want

it is never of the gleaming and glittering variety.

I want the

ugly love

and the

pockmarked love

that is scarred and wears its old traumas

like its armour.

I want the love that is past its expiry date and

has a bit of fuzz on it.

I want the love I want, not the love that is brand new.

I want something with character and I want to

connect with a heart that has some miles on it.

I know that all means there are headaches and old pain

to deal with

but I would rather deal with old hurt and old, achy hearts

than I would deal with the

weight of expectations from those

untarnished and pristine dreams of just how it all

should be.

It is thinking that what we think we want is

what we need

and not thinking we need that we don’t yet know.

We are all so caught up in our wanting to know that

we don’t know when enough is enough,

and when we find what we want and what we think we need,

there is no enough.

We are never in love enough.

We never make love enough.

We never talk enough.

We never feel enough.

We never do anything enough.

We don’t stop thinking about more and more and more.

We don’t think that we have fought enough to

last a lifetime.

We don’t think about how we’ve laughed enough to last two.

In the messy, ugly, road-tested love

we see the most indescribable thing is the only thing

we need and all we need is to be

honest about it.