Love.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: July 19, 2018

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Submitted: July 19, 2018

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I think about love a lot.
I think about it to the point of obsession of the ideas of love.
Infatuation, adoration, lust,
Platonic, romance, must
I go on?
And on and on and on?
I could, you know.
But no,
That was just to show
A taste of what's in my mind:
A whirlwind of love in varying kinds
And every time I think I should find
A love of my own,
I think of every love I've ever known:
My parents, my siblings, my friends, my lovers, the loves that I lost, let go of, or never had...
I can't remember a louve that I'd call bad
And yes I've been hurt, I've hurt others
Those I never knew, and those I've called lovers,
Hell, I'm sure I've even pissed off a few peoples mothers
But that wasn't love.
Love doesn't take us to a cliff then give that little shove,
that's something negative;
Something emotionally segregative.
Love breaks through our protections
To make intimate connections
When we are at our most vulnerable times
To Love is not a crime.
Unrequited or reciprocated, in any form,
love is love is love is love is love
And that is never wrong.
But I must stress
That is is the way we express
Whatever love that we possess
That defines who we are
Whether you love them from afar,
Or encircle each other like binary stars,
Love.
Love dearly,
clearly,
and sincerely.
But whatever you do,
Love.


© Copyright 2018 Thomas Domiano Clemente. All rights reserved.