i’m determined to release myself from the bondage of love.
while others feel lighter and more free for it, I hurt and hurt, and hurt, turning in on myself.
i’ve decided that for me, hope for love is not “that thing with wings.”
instead, it is that cruel beast gripping a shovel.


how do I tell myself a thing and mean it?
how do I say the truth fearlessly
so that the foolish hopefulness inside of me evacuates?
I might be free,
if only my maybe dreams would go


how do i let it go?

how do i kill my dream of love without killing myself in the process?

because there is no relief from loneliness born of lovelessness.

the ideals of romantic love have been a home to me and,

unsteady as it is,

i find no peace in setting fire to the place in which i live.


how do I tell myself “no” and mean it so that the foolish hopefulness inside of me evacuates. if only my “maybe” dreams would go.

i want to take an honest breath.
i want to speak the truth and be unafraid–
of impending discomfort.

and i want to be loved in earnest,
because i know that i can love.
i can do that much.
i can.


more than anything,

I think I wanted to know that I was someone to love.

someone who could be loved.

while the longing remains, the dream is dead,

and I wake and walk with an emptiness so profound

it feels like my heart is my head, and I’ve been dropped on it.

it hurts.