Heartaches...
...and a Lonely Planet.
9JAN2023
Did I fall in Love with you? It's something about falling in Love with a beautiful mind.
Is this my fate? The day I met you I heard the pulse of your voice before our eyes ever met.
Maybe I fell in Love with who I am when I'm with you. The feeling is so surreal to have someone just get you; more than you know yourself.
If I was meant to be your rib, then you're my nervous system. Without you there's nothing...
I'm nothing. It's almost scary that one person could have so much of an influence on everything you are.
But if you cant be used, then your useless. So I want you to use me.
Use me until there's nothing left. Use me until your use for me is done.
Tell me what I want to hear. Show me how you feel.
Show me the parts of you that are broken so that they may be healed. Let me heal your wounds while you create mine.
Let me build you while you break me. Maybe saving you from you, saves me.
Or maybe this is just what I need: To love me; even if it's not the version you seek.
- Kittrell.
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Thanks in advance for any and all Love shown to me and my work. It won't soon be forgotten; in any way, shape, form, or fashion.
Peace and Love.
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About the Creator
Kittrell Davis
Hi! Name's Kittrell Davis. Surprise, LOL! But anyways, I'm a 24 y/o woman from the east coast. I stay in the south tho. Just writing spilled out emotions. If you like/Love my poems & such, please tip &/or sub. Thank you for the shares too!
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Love pills
28DEC2022; WED How do you write a poem about Love? Having Love in your life can help when dealing with most things. Love can be a cushion for those bittersweet moments that everyone has. But in my opinion, Love is such a sweet mystery; and always will be.
By Kittrell Davis3 years ago in Poets
Foot Bindings
I asked my grandmother how she knew she'd fallen in love. I am not sure I ever did love him, she said. This was before I met my husband. I was naive, a naked spring, a raw nerve of a thing. That cannot ever be me, I knew. Sadness swept in gently like a Moscow thaw. It is no simple thing, looking into a woman's vast soul and seeing its foot bindings. Now, in Italy divorced with my skin singed off, when I say I don't love him mean: I have succeeded at feeling nothing most days and it mostly works. Do you want the comfort of Nothing? Do you want Nothing, too? Be warned: you'll never be free, even when you are nothing. Here is what doesn't work: Accepting the stages of grief. Talking about it. Sitting with the feeling. Missing him—no, the person you were when you believed in death do us part. Writing poetry. That, too. When I say I don't love him I mean: I feel capsized in an endless, starved tide. What sometimes works: selective memory. You must forget ripe tomatoes and his beard and feeling perfectly sheltered in a big blue world. Forget coffee in bed, laughter watching TV, blowing out the candles on the birthday cake and the quiet all-encompassing knowledge that you are chosen. Remember only how love turned to a banal everyday survival act, a trapeze act unsure whether he will catch you, how the warmth stagnated and became sour, remember the foot bindings and remember the resentment boiling in your veins as you stick it out for the kids. Six-hour Netflix binges help, too. A man's fingers tracing your spine. Frozen pizza at 2 a.m. Random trips to the museum just to stand near things that last a while. The realization that crying won’t change anything. Seeing that life is just a dream, and refusing to participate in your own suffering. Bite your fist. Walk on eggshells around joy. When I say I don't love him, I mean he didn’t break my heart, he just stopped touching it and it forgot how to beat right.
By Ella Bogdanova4 days ago in Poets
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