I rarely object to the loneliness that keeps me
up at nighttime instead, it urges me
to contribute to those otherwise wasted moments
of feeling sorry for myself into getting to know
me better than anyone else. Why bother
with fixing myself up for rejection?

I rarely object to the loneliness that keeps me
up at nighttime; instead, it urges me
to contribute to those otherwise wasted moments
of feeling sorry for myself into getting to know
me better than anyone else. Sometimes I don’t
even want to love at all. Why bother
if loving means pain?

I say these scary thoughts because that’s the way
I feel inside. I wake up those unsolved wounds
still fresh cut and bleeding from my last
migraine relationship. It was a mess; I keep
recollecting those hurtful parts of life
that reek with frustration and regret.
Once more, love seems unimaginable.