On loving (so far)

if only somebody would've told the young girl i once was 

some people will hold you so delicately

as if you were a fragile leaf, splitting, diverging, grasping at you own stem

they'll hold you with both hands

aware of every finger 

aware of all that you are

ready to nurture and inspire

honored and delighted to have that chance

you will be precious to them

like seeing the streets flood after drought 

and what then would that young girl think if you told her 

you couldn't digest that truth

you couldn't find the love in yourself so you could not believe

when every person around you willingly gives that to you

just eat it like a death row meal

just take it like you stole it 

i wish the younger me could tell me what she thinks of all this

of all this love she's going to get at all times, at every hour

in any state she comes, she's invited

and her presence is basked in, if not enthralled to be around

the people i have been walking up to these day

(with my head held higher than i can say for the past)

i'm finding love easier to understand

it is so unforgivingly necessary to believe when people love you 

and to thank them

and to love them tenfold

i keep walking past these strangers and in my head, occasionally out loud

i just thank them

for whatever they're walking towards

or away from

my love is like a ripe pear

it tastes like sourdough bread

smells like patchouli 

sounds like the birds in the morning 

and feels like silk on skin

i know this because i am this and i want everyone to be so accustomed to all these sensations