humming quietly in the nighttime

and sometimes i feel like i'm scrabbling at nothing, 
wisps of lost love so faint i wonder if i ever felt it at all, 
repulsion and desperation twined hand-in-hand, 
phrases mulled over until they're jumbled nonsense

i don't know what poetry is

what i'm doing

if i even count as a poet

i taught this to myself, 
be it the right way or wrong way
and i think
that everyone ends up teaching themselves eventually

i had no examples of modern verse or even prose, 
and nobody told me what to do 
it was just me 

trying to figure out what this was
what this is

i'm still not sure i fully understand
but i've got a comfortable rhythm now, 
something that curls warm in the low point of my ribcage
like the first time i looked at a girl and realized

the world doesn't care who you love
and i sure as hell don't

the world just cares about who you say you love
about who it deems wrong
and what is unacceptable
trust me, i've heard them all

and so i don't know, 
but this is poetry, 
and this is home, 
however messy and unstructured it may be -

this is my heart. 

The End

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