Wholehearted (poem)

Trawling social media
searching for prose,
I wonder why most of what people write
is about
(romantic) love;
Love they messed up,
can’t let go of,
love they experience each day –
in each other’s eyes,
in the simple gesture of fixing their husbands tie…

And I realise –
something has changed,
a switch must have been flipped in my heart shaped brain,
for I no longer care to fill a ‘hole’ in my heart with
what could be’s
and what might’ve been’s…

If I cannot pour my love into someones eyes
from mine,
if I cannot regale another with tales from
my heart,
through fingertips tracing
through joy filled

If I have not met another who has self-performed
open heart surgery
and left the operating table,
walking among the living with a half cut heart…
that’s okay with me.

For the love that I feel
is not dependent on another to receive –
it is the joy that is within
needing no key, password, or map…
it’s here –
within me.

If I cannot pour my love into someones
open mouth,
I shall pour that excess energy
into my bubbling stomach cauldron of
golden light…

Into long, sacred nights
spent in silence –
flickering candles burning,
little girls lost and found,
brought back to life.

For I am in love –
with the soft reflective light that
through my windows,
the scarves strung above my bed,
the sweet pitter patter of my dog
merrily trotting to greet me in
open morning hope.

For I am in love with –
clouds so close I feel their
the full, sweet silence of the footpaths
lit by twilight,
swings that creak and groan and hiss,
all my could’ves and should’ves…
but more so my

I am love with the world,
I laugh,
I cry,
I live,
I’ll die.

And if I never meet another to enjoy that
(romantic) love all the poets talk about –
I will remember the weekend I was
and the one person
in which i first
recognised the


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