![]() How do you approach your own loneliness when the alternative-to be with someone-is a much more serious and draining endeavor than the movies make it seem? What does it mean, too, to be “with someone”? What are our decided-upon definitions of love, and how are they flawed? Particularly, how does loneliness affect queer people in a different way-we are already fighting for the “right to love” from those who would oppose us, but we are fighting ourselves sometimes as well. I want to examine the loneliness that comes from feeling incapable of loving someone back, rather than incapable of being loved. I have approached romantic relationships with a much more bitter, cynical edge, and have been unable to pinpoint where loneliness can feel so large when you are sharing a bed with someone. Over the past few years, I have experienced two breakups, neither pleasant and one with considerable damage to myself. I write these poems as an avenue to understanding my own relationship with these topics. Really, I think I’ve been writing about them for awhile it’s only recently I’ve realized this, and therefore have leaned into it. ![]() I’ve become invested in negotiating loneliness and nostalgia in my poetry as of late. To love someone enough to make them a stone, I hear the cowboy say we’re more ghosts than people. ![]() Was so beautiful in how he loved minerals-that giddy phosphate Now that, that’s the kind of love mountains move for. I want to love someone enough to buy an island with them. Of their clicks, their frantic chittering & blind low swoops,Īs the animal of the skyline bursts with bright yellowed teeth. This is felt most in a Texan dusk, the acoustic coil Lusty neighborhood catĪ skipped stone storing heat in its bellyīefore the eventual blossom. This fast-fading sunfall feels like a threat, a throat flowering. Mitski says I could stare at your back all day, Poetry / Gabrielle Grace Hogan :: Love Me With the Fierce Horse of Your Heart ::
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