I want you to hold my hand until I can no longer fear.

And then gently draw me to you until your energy absorbs into every cell of my body to make sure that I never have to feel my ex-boyfriend’s presence again.

I’m gonna be honest. I’m not really a love poet either.

In fact, every time I write about love, my heart freezes just to remind me of how cold love can be.

And sometimes, my pen runs out of ink just to show me that love can run dry.

See, I learned that love is seen through rose colored glasses, so I write all my poems in pink.

And my poems never finish either because there is no net wide enough to encompass all that love is.

And I’ve always believed that real love is like William Wallace, after the war … alive, raw and brave, just like God intended.

I’ll be honest too. I’m not much of a love poet, but if I were to stay up late tonight and decide that I really wanted to write about love, my first poem would be about you.

See, I learned about love the way I learned how to speak a second language.


Full of mistakes and mis-understood sentences but all on my way to fluently telling the story of how I fell for you.

You see, I’m just not much of a love poet.

But if I was, I’d write about how I feel your arms in every blanket that wraps around me.

And I’ve written like 5 million poems hoping that somehow I’ll be able to write you into my life…so that you would be closer to me, and if you were here right now, I’d place your wounded hands upon my healing hips and move until your heart finds a rhythm that your mind never understood the beat to.

If I was a love poet, I’d write about how you have the guts to be a man even when everyone around you is acting like a child.

I’d write about how your life inspires me to be a better woman and how your listening ear is like salve on the tattered pages of my history.

And this may sound strange, but every now and then I wish that your name was the only other name in the book of life so that our love story could re-define salvation.

If I was a love poet, I’d write about how your very presence turns winter into spring and makes the cocoon that I’ve wrapped around myself dissolve so that you can see my colors.

Every time I see your face, my knees shake like a fawn but courage rises from the ashes like a Phoenix, and I feel freedom again.

I swear that I’m not a love poet, but if I was to stay up late tonight and decide that I wanted to write a poem about love, my first one would be about you.

And after all that, he was like, “Sooo, do you wanna have dinner?”

I said, “Let me say this…”

I wanna be your ex-girlfriend’s body double. I wanna do the things she wasn’t good enough to do…Like, value you.

I swear that when our lips touch, it’s proof that God has parted the red sea and destroyed every last obstacle that kept you on the other side.

Some days, I want to make you the anchor to my ship to erase any chance of me getting away from you.

If I could, I would turn you into the punctuation in all of my sentences. I could be your exclamation mark and you could be my parenthesis. Whenever we stand next to each other, I would be the writer and you my muse, and together we would be the greatest love poem of all time…

Like you were the only one made for me.

You could be papyrus, and I could be the feather quill pen.

You could be the sealing wax on the folded page even though no one writes in ink anymore.

And when people ask if you are my boyfriend, I’ll say, NO.

He is my free verse, and I am his Nobel Prize.

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Copyright, 2015, Erin Dworak, The Writing Season