make room for more love even when
you are sick to death of it, even when
your brain rings insane with it, even when you
think abstinence is the better alternative,
even when you think fucking someone
who can’t remember your name
will fix you. make room for love even when
your pillow is wet with your own sloppy kisses,
even if you’ve masturbated so much last night
your middle finger is sore. make room.
drink it to the last drop.
place the lozenge onto your tongue and suck like
it’s a drug. love and then love some more,
even if you don’t think anyone can compare to the
one you lost, even if the one you lost would never
dedicate a single word to you,
even if you can’t endure another morning
with only your weight digging into the mattress.
spring clean for a sea of love
that might take you in its hands and not let you float,
or don’t make room for it – stand in front of the mirror
and know that one day alight and charged,
you will sink in a love so heavy it’ll
make you forget all the times you held your own hand
and prayed it was another’s.
By contramonte, “Make Room” (via contramonte)