still not a love poem

some nights it feels like
it’s just me and the moon
even though I know for a fact
that I’m surrounded by love
if I can just let it in.

when it’s not the love you want
it can feel like a blow instead.
or like someone is speaking
in a language you tried to learn,
and it’s you fumbling the connection.

but I refuse to believe that
you can’t love anyone else
until you love yourself,
or that you only accept the love
you think you deserve.
these days I’m on speaking terms with myself,
which is a lot better than it uaed to be.
but I’ve loved so deeply, indiscriminately,
and I’ve accepted that others love me
even if I think they’re wrong.

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