faux love

what is it about love that scares people to death? open love that makes people run? we have all loved before without inhibitions or fears, but that was years ago right, before we learned our lessons, before we got hurt by "faux love." love is an interesting thing, and as i grow older i realize how much love i still have for many people, more love than i even did 3, 2 or even 1 year ago. something has changed in me, i am able to see people's potential, where they might have come from, where they hope to go, all of these things, and this ability also makes it so easy to stop judging people, and start loving them. somehow knowing that so-and-so had an alcoholic father makes it easier to love him, or knowing that the girl working at the coffee shop was verbally abused as a kid makes me less likely to call her a bitch or a whore, i know her, and she needs love too, even if she is orange from too much tanning, and wears alot of makeup. i used to think that i could not love everyone fully, and i still acknowledge that i cannot emotionally give 99.8% of people in this world the kind of love and care i have the ability to give, but i can give love to some people. the love i give is maybe more intense than it should be, i like to smother, when i love someone, i let them know with hugs or gifts or words or time spent. im not the best listener but i try. i open my heart to many people, but something about our world twists and skews love into something sexual and dirty when it is really quite innocent.

what i am, what i cant be

i am a breeze, i never settle, i am never able to just settle, settle in the branches of a tree or on the surface of the ocean to feel the waves move beneath me. i will always be a breeze, i might accelerate down a mountain, or pause on on a rooftop to look back and see where ive been, but i will never be able to rest. i long for rest, i long to lie still, i desire more than anything to be able to just stop, drop into the household of some family and lie still between the coolness of plaster walls. instead i frustrate the branches of little bushes, push wee birds out of their nests, upset piles of papers on desks, steal napkins and plastic bags, and snatch balloons from children. i agitate everything i meet, i cannot leave anything else to rest either, everywhere i go i cause trouble, occasionally pleasure but mostly irritation, i am the hair in your face, the leaves scuttling up the road, i am broken branches and displaced families, if only i could rest, or wrap myself around the trunk of a tree. even if i could just lie flat in a field and be content to rustle its grass, but somehow, i am always pushed, pushed to continue, pushed to move where i dont want to go, to do what i dont want to do, to hurt what i dont want, to be where i dont want, and never to have what i do want. i am the breeze, i will never rest.