dressed in clothes unrecognizable,
in skin you didn’t expect.
love, or the sweet chance to taste it,
slaps me like the early morning wind of spring,
staining my face, my lungs, my feelings.
it is present, i am hesitant —
you are not what i wanted,
not the beautiful face
my shallow imagination conjured.
the mind wants me to grow up.
the heart wants me to commit.
the spirit wants me to fear nothing.
why then, do i stand in question,
before the person willing to hold my heart?
i shouldn’t feel guilty for this, for not wanting, you.
i shouldn’t —
but i do.