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
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.


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