The Breath I Breathe

I am tired of writing about love and being loved,
I have seen it all and yet, I keep trying;
My heart never learned and now neither does the brain –
It is a limitless rigmarole of lying!

Maybe I confuse love with acceptance:
Seeing myself as Perfect, in the eyes of a lover;
But, eventually, I see myself as lacking
Remorse is what I eventually discover.

Ironic sure that the last who loved me
When I was young, now wants someone younger;
Ironic more that he who says loves me now,
Professed cluelessly, quite the same hunger.

Confessions and cheatings have torn my soul apart,
So much so that I have no soul left to bare;
I truly wish I had no use for this miserable heart:
All it has conferred on me is dead-ended despair.

Somewhere delving deeper than heart sinew,
I must have found some self worth, some strength;
But all love does is push it right back in
And holds me up to ridicule and judgement.

Words, when spoken by those I love, shatter
Good, vain preconceptions I have fostered of me;
So I pick and dissect all those that matter
Yet relegate each to just horned-up sexuality.

I really thought I had pushed love out of my system,
Look to the mirror for that is what they all see!
But time makes me commit the same mistake over
And think that love finally wanted the heart in me.

If you want the heart it lies in a body just as mine
And is this not love to love both just the same
My heart has grown older with my body over time
And both still respond to the very same name.

But I am tired of writing about being unloved,
I have seen it all and yet I keep trying,
And I know now that love will not stop
Until the breath I breathe before dying.


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