This morning I stood outside and
felt the sunlight falling across
my back and I realized that
I am alive.

I walked around hollow for
months until my heart reminded
my tormented heart that I could
write you poem after poem
after poem and you would still
never love me.

We all have fatal flaws, small
tragedies that end up being
our downfall, and mine was not you;
Mine is my soul. I will love and
love until I’m empty and then
I will love some more.

So every time an apology slips from
my lips, I am begging myself for
forgiveness, for once again shattering
myself by loving too hard and
tapping into my blood to use it
for precious ink when the look
in your eyes is not enough.