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Not a love poem
January 9, 2021
I can feel it bubbling inside of me,
Like an unstable pot above a roaring flame.
It only hurts sometimes though.
Like the nights i spend crying,
Clutching at my chest like i could tear my heart out if I tried hard enough.
It hurts most on those nights.
But on the days when i can walk around,
my chest bound so tight i can barely breath, it barely hurts at all.
So i suppose it’s not the pot i can feel, but the flame.
Growing when i give it air, and shrinking when i take it away.
© Stephanie H., Highland Village, TX
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Howdy? THis is just a poem i cooked up on a whim.