Whose Love Is It Anyways

Outnumbered yet alone, 
here where you are,
is there space for me?

Those around you seem to think not. 

Maybe they wouldn’t say it, so openly, 
but their actions say enough. 

It’s hard to love 
when there’s a possibility of your love, not being meant to be.
Is any love meant to be? 
It is hard to love,
when you feel as though your love might not be enough, 
but what is enough? 
When is enough, enough?

Maybe the love,
I see on tv screens, 
an in magazines, 
is the only love. 

by: Natasha Decker

In Anger

My lover isn’t picture perfect, he has his flaws.
My lover isn’t some poem or any love song,
sometimes he is hurtful without cause.
Shit.
He is not the lover hopeless romantics spend their time fantasizing about. 
Still. 
I am in awe. 
He is smokey and sometimes cheerful and sometimes angry. 
He is difficult. 
Sometimes,
distant. 
Occasionally, painfully, 
too close. 
He is beautiful, 
he is lovely, 
he is not some or any,
he is mine. 
I am in awe.

by: Natasha Decker