A letter to my future lover

Dear future lover, 

My heart is not a clear map

It is a multicolored kaleidoscope

That I constantly stare at

But never can decipher

It is a whirlpool of lines and dots and emotions

That swallow everything and anything in their path

It is a conglomerate

Of forgotten best friends

And best friends who forget

First loves and old flames

That sometimes still scorch me

It is a beast that can only feel safe in poetry

Happy in the deserts of Israel

And grateful at the summit of Masada

It sings with a broken voice box

For freedom

It is a bird who isn’t caged but constantly feels enslaved

It is a child who grew up

And just wants to return to its neighborhood

Childhood

It feels, acts, and then finally thinks

It’s full of unjustified faith that speaks for what it believes in

And learns after everything has been said and done,

Collects seas shells after the ocean has already washed most of them away.

My heart is a chamber of regrets

Of the times I didn’t say I deserved something

And watched it be tossed over to someone

Who would toss it away.

It sometimes contracts with anger

Rage towards the past

And then fury at my own self pity

And refusal to move the hell on.

It is a college applicant stuffed with fear

Who doesn’t know if it wants to write poems

Or save lives when it grows up

It begs for independence

Yet is terrified of it

It loves the sensation of sunlight

But prefers the scent of rain kissed leaves

It wants to be held and nurtured and treasured

But not by just anyone.

It has accepted a new stepfather

It has attempted to guide a sister

And has produced undulating thoughts about a mother that always end in love

It worries about a grandmother

And longs for a stolen grandpa

My heart is bold and outspoken

And it pisses a lot of people off

But it is so insecure and sensitive

It hides behind a wall of individuality.

It is occasionally creative

And constantly passionate

Inspired by the whims of a g-d it thinks it believes in

And the world it has been told he (or she) created.

Sometimes it lumps activists together as whining liberals

And then fights to become one.

It has no goals but to be extraordinary

But has not a clue in which field

Nor how to accomplish the goal.

Its favorite activities are thrice offenders

When it comes to heartbreaking

And my heart loves to throw itself upon people who aren’t even sure

Which shade of pink it is.

It breathes quickly and deeply

Climbs slowly and steeply

Over wrong mountains

But laughs because the journey was the right one.

It wants to be valuable

But not to have a price.

It despised 5th grade

But fell for sophomore year

And wept when he left her.

It craves to be in control only in out of control situations

And argues if it is a synonym with soul.

It’s a fickle friend with the mind.

It tries not to get stuck behind

But adores history

And the past.

And it moves too fast

And its elements are longer than what can be described in a single poem.

So future lover

If you would like to explore the 700 seas of my heart

Bring a large yet gentle ship

Your voyage will be long and hectic

Climatic and dramatic

But don’t you dare depart.