Bless The Mess

Sometimes there’s a method to the madness

We fought so hard last night my throat hurts

I don’t remember the last time we fought

like that and it broke my heart to see you

cry and carry on like I was about to leave

and all the while I was doing the same

over and over we have this “talk,”

the wedding, how we can make it work

I believe in us, but not in marriage

you don’t see how this can be possible

I was thirteen when my parents divorced

the dark cloud of uncertainty settled over

my heart and shut it off to love, but not for long

I am made for love, to love, to be loved, I need it

so bad I can’t stop thinking about you and how

you’re here unconditionally

how about me? Am I

the woman of your dreams? The one

who can dispel your fears and make you believe

in magic? I’m not sure, but I know one thing

I am ready to blossom into her, have been since we met

and I’m learning, and I’m growing, and it’s okay

not to know

My closet is a mess and maybe this

is a metaphor for

your skin on my skin

clothes scattered all over the floor

we are a mess, and so is

everyone, sometimes, yet

we often wonder if we

will make it, so I

find a small, quiet corner

and contemplate commitment

sanctioned off, like an acquisition

my heart, my soul, my vision

which has never been mine to decide

what happens to me is unpredictable

chaotic, random maybe, with you

I am a better version of myself

every day