To My Future Lover, If I (…)


Hello, my love.
If I am allowing you to see my poetry,
than I am certain I have already written a lot about you.
However handsome, sophisticated, and intelligent,
I know you are.
Also, if I am really showing you my poetry,
and you did not come across it accidentally,
then I want you to know, who you think you love.
I need you to know me.

I have to be honest with you, brutally honest and true.
We'll start out lighthearted.

One:

I eat some strange food.
You know, not pizza or ice cream,
I never really liked candies and sweets,
or junk, for that matter.
But real food.
Food from the ground, washed, sliced,
deliciously prepared fruits and vegetables.
Don't laugh, this is important,
because I do not want chocolate for every single holiday.
Come on, doesn't everybody love originality?

Two:

I usually do not sleep.
Not for long, anyway.
At most, I doze for five to six hours.
And more often than not,
I wake up constantly throughout the night.
At one, at two seventeen, at four twenty-one.
But do not worry too much about my irregular sleeping patterns.
I wake up refreshed and ready to go,
I can run on very little sleep.

Three:

Animals and I have always been the best of friends.
Dogs, cats, horses, birds, any animal I see, really.
Oh, and mice.
I have had pet mice since I was a young child,
and I would not suggest you try to rid me,
of my love for them.
I am afraid the solution would not be in your favor.

Four:

I love my baby brother, more than anything in this world.

Five:

I write.
A lot.
My best pieces are written,
when even the birds have yet to wake,
but I never went to bed,
and you are sleeping beside me.
Poetry is my way of communication with...
the outside world,
but I write about everything, in every way,
because in typical conversation,
my tongue cannot fathom,
why it should ever help me speak
and I am often tongue-tied.
Especially when you stare into my eyes,
looking for my secrets,
the ones I hide in the deepest parts of my mind.

Six:

Speaking of secrets,
my past has a plethora of them.
If I open up to you,
or if you ask me, to open up to you,
listen.
Look at me so I know you hear me.
And when I finish talking, explaining,
you can judge me.
If you do, you can also leave me.
At that moment. Walk away.
I understand.
I am hard to handle.
But if you look at me the same way,
as the day you fell in love with me,
and you believe me, want me, need me,
then stay.
Stay.
And share your secrets.
I love listening.

Seven:

Sometimes I have days where I just need to be alone.
I cannot tell you why,
I have yet to figure it out for myself,
but some things get further under my skin than others.
Like ticks.
The bigger the tick, the easier to find and remove.
The least likely to carry a disease.
But the smaller the tick, the harder to find,
the most likely to carry a disease
detrimentally damaging to my life if untreated.
I am human, and I am fragile,
so things get to me.
My heart is not impenetrable.
When I am having one of those days,
hopefully they are few and far between,
use your own judgement.
Stay clear or get over here,
and hold me as if you are afraid to let me go.

There is more to me than this,
of course, but I cannot write it all for you.
Instead, I am prepared to face the struggle,
of untying my tongue and speaking,
as I stare into your eyes, and you, into mine,
as I try to help you see I am a lot to handle,
but nothing worth having, ever comes easy.

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