laugh with the moon | [irene m. irizarry]



why am i always asked
over and over
directly
hidden between the lines
what love means to me and how does it feel
but how to cope with a feeling i can’t taste with my eyes
or see through the heart
on foggy nights and blind lightning poles
i’m frown upon when i answer
i don’t know what it’s supposed to be
or how to feel

now that love has been constructed


I hate to intervene but 
she’s wrong.
Love is sipping from the same straw.
Love is pulling each other closer when the air conditioning is too cold. 
The mind, body, soul and heart dictate this feeling
to depend on growing seeds they planted in your lungs
and let flowers grow as your heart beats as they breathe.



but you see, she is also mistaken.
those flowers have roots in too deep
causing their growth to overflow
and eventually choke you
until you decay with the falling of their petals.
how dependent you become for your safety
well being
emotional stability
and existence
is rather tragic, harming, and chaining

if i were to love another,
other than myself
i would
collapse



I don’t comprehend why that would be.
LovE explodes inside
from the moment we dissipate into
the universe that is their eyes 
or birth a universe women are able to create 
or when parents pretend to have a midnight 
conversation with Santa Clause 
explaining why their child was so nice that year
or how blood flows through one’s veins 
because they’re alive today
due to someone else’s blood stream.
how is this catastrophic for her?



i am unable to fully grasp the idea of the love portrayed
that many painfully seek in order to feel something
to feel useful 
accepted 
wanted

it is frightening to think, at the same time enigmatic 
how we cannot utterly unlock another’s thoughts.
i know they hide underneath they’re eyelashes 
and those pretty broken flowers 
as i hide behind starry shadows 
that gently kiss my lips 
and make me dance and laugh with the moon


I guess she’s right somehow



in her infinite composure
and her scope on love
which oddly sets me in a lilac sky 
that we tend to confuse with pink 
but we still differ.
It’s and endless landscape of emotions we can’t escape from
or ignore since it’s constantly revolving around us
because we are our own light
where we may let others shine upon us 
only if we wish to.
It’s tedious 
but driven far from impossible.
It’s there when she thinks I’m not looking.
It’s there when she stares back. 
Her mind works beautifully,
and I won’t let her collapse 
unless it’s in my arms.
I will always kiss her
and make her dance and laugh with the moon

endlessly






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