By Sol Dente, TIWP Student

i will love you no matter your misdemeanors 

she says

her hand in mine

and my heart in hers

a cacophony of drums 

i have never been loved before

the only supports i know 

is the marble i call my paper 


the words she has left stained on it 

we were born of war 

perhaps it is fitting 

that we are made 

of love 

so many people have asked 

what love is to me 

i did not know 

until she wove it for me 

in a tapestry of follicles and strands

physical contact is our base instinct 

perhaps that is why she is mine

and i am hers

if i were to be honest

something i am far too often

i do not yet believe that i am hers

but she will make me 

her weapon is her words, 

and her touch, and her 

blunt styrofoam heart

she is resorting to violence for me

isn’t that sweet?

we were both born of war 

she has bandaged my heart with her love

i would thank her,

but she will not have it 

i have tried to apologize for the way i am 

she will not have that either 

she has chosen her weapon 

it is sky blue styrofoam

her love is scrawled in sharpie on the side

she has resorted to force 

she has resorted to love

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