5 Love Poems for When Lord Byron Just Doesn’t Give You the Feels

It doesn’t interest me
what you do for a living.
I want to know
what you ache for
and if you dare to dream
of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me
how old you are.
I want to know
if you will risk
looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me
what planets are
squaring your moon…
I want to know
if you have touched
the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened
by life’s betrayals
or have become shriveled and closed
from fear of further pain.
I want to know
if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.
I want to know
if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you
to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations
of being human.
It doesn’t interest me
if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear
the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.
I want to know
if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”
It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live
or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.
It doesn’t interest me
who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me
where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know
what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.
I want to know
if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like
the company you keep
in the empty moments.

Rupi Kaur’s our souls are mirrors with two sillhouettes of people’s faces that form a love heart
Rupi Kaur’s our souls are mirrors with two sillhouettes of people’s faces that form a love heart

Yesterday you asked me if I think about you during the day
In class or on the bus
Do I ever wonder who you’re with or what you’re doing or what you’re thinking about
Well…. I’m in math class right now…

And I’m thinking about you like crazy, like…
Hands think about holding
And arms think about folding
And minds think about not thinking, but knowing

I’m thinking about you like…
Feet think about socks and socks think about shoes
I’m thinking about you like…
Rock and metal think about screaming
Like blues thinks about rhythm
Like hip-hop thinks about…. hoes?

Like gardeners think about hoes

I’m thinking about you like…
Tops think about spinning
And rocks think about sitting
And cops think about…. arresting people

I’m thinking about you like people think about a clock five minutes before a shift ends

I’m thinking about you like…
A thinks about being with C
And B thinks about seeing D
And E effing G
And H eyeing J

I’m thinking about you like…
White and black think about making grey on a paint pallet
Like night thinks about making day in the morning
Like rain clouds think about pouring

I’m thinking about you like…
Math analysis thinks about being boring…
(Because, seriously, any class this boring has had to take some serious thought so…)
I’m thinking about you like the last problem on this math quiz!

I’m thinking about you like…
Bugs think about grass
Like thugs think about….grass
Like students think about class
Like ladies think about class
Like lower middle class people think about flying first class to places they only dream about like New Zealand or France

I’m thinking about you like….
Pilots think about the horizon
Like the clouds think about the wind
And the wind thinks about the trees
And teenage boys think about the birds and the bees
And the bees think about serving the queen and making honey
And honey I’m thinking about you like…. crazy….

Like mattresses think about springs
And winter thinks about spring
Who thinks about summer and it doesn’t matter
What season it is when I’m thinking about you
It’s always sunny
Like rainbows and bunnies

And I’m thinking about you like…
Rich people think about making money
And broke people think about making money
And when I think about you
The world makes…cents…

Let me go change
I’m thinking about you when I’m getting dressed
Because before I step up on stage
When I look at myself in the mirror
You’re the only one I’m trying to impress

I’m thinking about you like…
Boats think about floating
And paddles think about rowing
And poets think about flowing
I’m thinking about you like…
Bankers think about loaning
And renters think about owning
And stoners think about… throwing rocks

I’m thinking about you
Like keyboards think about keys
And keys think about unlocking locks
Like Goldilocks still thinks about bears
Like bears think about being cool

I’m thinking about you like…
Refrigerators think about being cool
And microwaves think about being hot
Like kids think about breaking rules
Like targets think about getting shot

I’m in math class right now, not trying to get you off my mind
Just simply off the sign and cosign and tangent lines I’m graphing

I’m thinking about you like…
Numbers think about adding
Like cripples think about standing
I’m thinking about standing up
And walking out

I’ll say I have to go to the bathroom
Or something
And I can find out who you’re with
And what you’re doing
And what you’re thinking about
But… I think you’re in class right now too
So I’ll text you
I’m thinking about you

Send.

I will wake you up early
even though I know you like to stay through the credits.

I will leave pennies in your pockets,
postage stamps of superheros
in between the pages of your books,
sugar packets on your kitchen counter.
I will Hansel and Gretel you home.

I talk through movies.
Even ones I have never seen before.

I will love you with too many commas,
but never any asterisks.

There will be more sweat than you are used to.
More skin.More words than are necessary.

My hair in the shower drain,
my smell on your sweaters,
bobby pins all over the window sills.

I make the best sandwiches you’ve ever tasted.
You’ll be in charge of napkins.

I can’t do a pull-up.
But I’m great at excuses.

I count broken umbrellas after every thunderstorm,
and I fall asleep repeating the words thank you.

I will wake you up early
with my heavy heartbeat.
You will say, Can’t we just sleep in, and I will say,
No, trust me. You don’t want to miss a thing.

I’ll be honest;
It’s not often that I find myself eager to write about love.
In fact, every time I try to write about love, my hands cramp
just to show me how painful love can be and sometimes,
pencils break just to prove that every now and then,
love takes a little more work than planned.
I’m not much of a love poet. But if I was to wake up
tomorrow morning and decide that I really wanted
to write about love, my first poem would be about you. About how
I loved you the same way that I learned how to ride a bike.
Scared, but reckless. With no training wheels or elbow pads
so my scars can tell the story of how I fell for you.
I’m not much of a love poet, but if I was, I’d write about how I see
your face in every cloud and your reflection in every window. I’ve
written a million poems, hoping that somehow, you’ll jump out of
the page and be closer to me. Because if you were here right now, I
would massage your back until your skin sings songs
that your lips don’t even know the words to.
Until your heartbeat sounds like my last name.
And you smile like the Pacific Ocean.
I want to drink the sunlight in your skin.
If I was a love poet, I’d write about how
you have the audacity to be beautiful
even on days when everything around you is ugly.
I’d write about your eyelashses, and how they are like
violin strings that play symphonies every time you blink.
If I was a love poet, I”d write about how I melt in front of you
like an ice sculpture every time I hear the vibration in your voice
and whenever I see your name on the caller ID, my heart plays
hopscotch inside of my chest. It climbs onto my ribs
like monkey brs and I feel like a child all over again.
I know this is going to sound weird, but sometimes,
I pray that God somehow turns you back into one of my ribs
just so I would never have to spend an entire day without you.
I swear, I’m usually not a love poet, but if I were to wake up
tomorrow morning and decide that I really want to write about
Love, my first poem would be about you.

If you liked this article, please give it a “clap.” If you liked it A LOT, you can hold down the clap to give me up to 50 claps!

Walkaway Partner Syndrome: It Has Probably Happened to You

You Can Actually Die of a Broken Heart — Here’s the Science

The Healthy Relationship Trifecta — Love Advice Condensed

Facebook; Twitter; Instagram; Tumblr; Pinterest

Author. Playwright. Poet. Activist.

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store