Elemental Ecstasy.

You send me reeling through the streets of Seville, 
a siesta from my regular routine, 
flamenco dancing in the sun, 
my heart beats to the rhythm of the Spanish guitar.

You send me blasting through the skies, 
up, up and away into outer space. 
I sail beyond the stars, and dance beside the moon. 
Looking down at the clouds, I save a picture in my mind.

You send me scorching into the Sahara heat, 
with only your kiss to hydrate me, as we melt into the sand. 
Your every wish is my command, let me be your caravan. 

You send me streaming through the ancient seven seas, 
bathing in the Atlantic ocean, 
before we dive deeper into the blue. 
Floating in the coral. let me tickle you with kelp. 
Let this moment last forever, you are my wishing well.

Love Thyself.

Like the kettle that comes to a boil without heat,
there is no joy in riding a bicycle without a seat.

Unless your own reflection makes you smile bearing teeth, another human won't be able to make you feel complete.

Priority.

The days where our love eclipsed all else are gone, 
so do not ask me to feel the same again.
Although there was a time when the sun 
solely rose and slept against the horizon of your eyes.

We cannot expect broken glass to ever be the same. 
You're right, my life, that the memories remain. 
But just like a chemical reaction can't be reversed, 
they cannot be changed.

Sure, we could attempt to start anew, 
although you should already know 
how deep my love runs for you. 
And I never thought I'd see the day 
when I placed anything before us. 

But now that I have seen the world's 
true face and all it's ugliness, 
I fear that I have been exposed 
to hatred and mistrust. 

Yes, it's true that the sun still appears 
first in the east before disappearing in the west, 
but that does not mean that the tragedies I've seen 
are ones I can easily forget.

Singularity.

Society seems dead set on causing its single citizens distress, unable to process that self-love could also be a path that leads to happiness.

Placated, and often patronized for being on one's own and not one-half of a pair, as though dining alone is pitiful, and is a fate worse than illnesses that are rare.

One is the loneliest number—our relatives and coworkers remind us like clockwork every day, as they poke, prod then pry, and ask questions why "great guys like us" wake up alone, instead of with some babe.

Despite my attempts to explain that I've finally reconnected with the boy who I lost long ago, their eyes go blank, and they stare open-mouthed,  convinced that I've run out of hope.

After desperately dating for fifteen years, and regularly being reduced to tears, I honestly enjoy my own company, for once, and no longer fear the absence of my peers. 

Still, we are programmed to chase unrealistic interpretations of romance, Instead of being encouraged to first learn how to hold and warm our own hands. 

When every culture conditions us to covet our own versions of their fairy tales, is it any wonder why sadness prevails once our fantasies inevitably fail? 

If we were raised to love ourselves first, we would never forget our worth, and only accept the kind of love that lifts us up, the kind of love that we deserve.