unrequited love, is a disease. It eats at me, ravages me. I am no longer me when the waves hit me. I am slumbered beneath the sea. I am in mourning. I am tree that has lost its leaves. The autumn of my life, I must salvage what is left; I will replant in the spring. I will plow my fields; with my own hand. The pleasure can be too much to handle, but the rain comes when I call. I am my own goddess, I am my own harbinger. Muse to my fate, I inscribe lies to fend off my own misery. I take blades to my fields because I find imperfections in the presence of raw, unfettered beauty. In my dreams, you always wore white. I should have known, you were no angel, not heaven-sent…
@amateur_poet
Mecca-Amirah Jackson 