Poem: Act Like You Love Me

I ask for you to tell me, show me, or act like you love me,

see that their is still beauty in this troubled soul,

that I still love you from the first day I met you.

Still I ask for you to tell me, show me, or act like you love me...

Even with your words that if we broke up, you wouldn't feel a thing,

not a single ounce of heartbreak but yet my hands keep searching

for love in your personality.

For something whole,

that has left this black hole

of hope but how can I believe

that love is pure that its white

as snow or as sweet as any red berry,

when I think you choose to

only feel what you choose too.

My hands continue to search,

my lips wanting to kiss what I miss,

my eyes searching for a sign.

For an answer.

I've buried our love in flames, slabs of concrete

between my feet, my hands buried in burgundy paint,

& I ask that this house that has been built

is not brought back to its bricks.

It is not tore to shambles, its

guilt is not turned into smoke or its

saddness used to rebuild walls or

my blood rushed through a wine press

for you to taste.

I ask you to show me, tell me, or act like you love me,

tell my heart its wrong,

that my gut is a liar,

my tongue being stuffed down

my throat is not begining to turn into a

graveyard of spite.

As I continue to rush pink valentine

wine down my throat to drown my insecurities

because my anxieties have anxieties, I try

to make myself believe I don't love you anymore.

So that every blow becomes beautiful,

a wonderful tradgey, that is plastered in every poem,

canvas & paper that your fingers have never touched.

As I whisper, yell as the walls hear my calls & wishes,

to say, to make myself believe I do not love you anymore,

that I do not smile at the sound of your name,

or that I laugh when a "I love you" is formed from pink lips,

& blue eyes that have moved oceans for me

but even the moon can do the same.

I can still taste you on my lips,

I still wonder if you will feel heartbreak

one day because of me, the same way

I have filled your chest with guilt

or how I have pulled you to say I love you.

An I love you, that you told me you said

to one another girl but you didn't mean it,

yet with me you say you mean it, with the

mind of a man that does not show emotion

but I've seen emotion cross those

blue eyes from horizons to sunsets to full

moons to loving me.

To loving me.

So, how can you spill gasoline onto a heart,

light a match of green fireworks & tell me

you wouldn't mourn losing me; that if we broke

up it would never cause you a heartbreak.

That you could just move on with no anger,

saddnes or rejoice not a single ounce of proof

you were in love me; so I continue erasing

every word, sentence & phrase to convince

myself I don't love you.

So, that every poem never speaks your name,

or breathes our love, paints a scenery of a forgotten tale,

or a song that reminded us of us.

I make myself believe I don't love you but our pictures,

cause waterfalls, your name still brings smiles,

I still laugh when you kiss me all over my cheeks,

but were not okay;

Yet, I still hope one day you fear losing me,

fear mourning my footsteps stepping

out from a white picket fence, that one

day you feel heartbreak from me but not

from a breakup.

Which is something I hope one day you'll feel & understand.

I still love you.

A "I love you" that is not forced, not thrown around,

but floating on my tongue,

hoping the grass isn't greener on the other side.

Hoping one day you'll fear losing me,

that losing me is something you'll mourn

but not through death but as a red balloon

that slipped through childlike hands.

I ask act like you love me,

show me that my gut is wrong,

that this heart is not sitting

in a freezer beneath a thousand

bodies I have passed, a million

women I have never pleased &

to the two men that never loved

me.

Show me that my love is not a game,

that this heart is not being fondled,

played like an accordion, or

being used for sport.

That it is not your target practice

for darts nor is it being used in a game

of pool, show me its not part

of your game for anchery.

Act like you love me,

that you are willing to fix

this mess created from

our fingertips, that has

grown like overgrown weeds

from our coffee stained

lips & that I'm not alone in this.

Now I'm telling you act like you love me,

we are not laced with gold,

our cracks are not fixed,

because my hands are still empty

waiting for yours.