pining girls in march

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 “To want is to be okay with the ache of the wait” - Mouna.

Be wary they say,

it sneaks in like carbon monoxide poisoning

By the time you reckon that something is wrong         

It would already be too late they say

This mystical feeling, the right that would fix all wrongs

This emotion that’s deadlier than anything you’ve ever known

This viper I am meant to hold close to my chest and kiss with crimson lips

How do I spot it in these dark seas? How can I tell if it’s there for me? If it’s coming for me?

How does one recognise love when it’s shrouded in pain?

How do I teach the body not to fear it?

Regular love is never enough they say

it’s not real love, not like the one you’ll find at the end of this poem

at the end of this swipe, this coffee chat, this song, this one last talking stage, this blind date with a boy that stares too long at your cleavage

This one accountant who lectures you about feminism, The one who wants your servitude

Real love they say will find you when you least expect it, hair unruly and clothes frumpy

But not like this, when you’re thinking this hard about it, when you are this obvious about it

You can’t think about it too loud, write about it too often, be on it’s side when you’re shrinking,

Scribble I love you in the fogged up mirror after a hot shower

Practice in your room a lazy walk along the park when love proposes, how you’ll place your hands just the right way, cry just the right amount

You can’t want it too badly they say







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