Metamorphosis of Love

I used to write beautiful poems

Before life would chew me up and spit me out.

Pure visions of love and spiritual connection

Came easily to me and blossomed on the paper.

Now my words are muddled and the images are blurry.

There are smudges and stains on my scrolls

Even in the presence of Love herself.

She is a little worn out, her clothes don’t fit so well

After yo-yo dieting on what-ifs and empty promises.

Love’s hair is washed and brushed

But undyed, uncurled, unstraightened, unsprayed.

She’s just a little tired—not yet jaded but fatigued,

Not yet out of hope but resigned that it might not work out.

She won’t despair anymore, but she’ll shed a tear every now and then

In the nostalgia of who she used to be,

Of the places she’d go or dream to visit,

Of the people she’s loved with all her heart.

© 2021 Lola Sense

~~~

Thank you for reading! If you like my work, you can support me with a tip or a coffee. And if you enjoyed this, you might also like: