i don't know much about anything about the world, i know only what i see,
when you are so little a drop in the thundering rapids of the waterfall as i, you have little perspective on anything 
it is not for a lack of trying,
i love and i love and i love
but with voices screaming that i do not, that i am pretending to feel, that i am lying, that i am a fraud with the face of a friend, it takes something minute to send me silent.
a desperate silence. a cry for help.
i am at once too self aware and too genuine and embarrassing.
oh, the paradox of youth.
i love and i love and i love
but i am told it is not real. i am told self love does not exist, that annoyance and boredom cancels out adoration, that everyone ends up alone, intentionally or not

fuck that,
how miserable—

why would the poets and writers and artists bleed with vulnerability if not for love?
why would our caves have handprints from paint if not for love?
humanity is not a curse. not inherently.

humanity is not the conglomerate corporations
humanity is segments of a tangerine saved for a friend
humanity is the soft chuckles of a couple linking arms and smiling with wisened eyes
humanity is fingerprints in old ceramics and chipped pottery that cries "i was here! i exist!"
humanity is burning cheeks and ruffling hair and birthday cards and favourite lyrics

and humanity is love
i love and i love and i love

if i know nothing else, i know that

A/N: thanks for reading, sleep well <3