Boi Growing Up

Love is not something I hand out easily. It takes a whole lot to trust enough to be able to let my guard down and expose my soft interior. My love is a degree further beyond that, but the spanse is far away. So far away that “on the horizon” doesn’t apply here. Unreachable by any conceivable means, but when you hit it…it’s more the impact to myself that I have to brace myself for.

My love tends to be fully automatic.
An uncontrollable gun with a featherweight trigger,
unleashing a steady barrage of devotion and selfsacrificing care at the slightest pull.
With a full recoil damaging the wrist that holds it.
Often it keepings pouring out even when the cartridge is empty,
pulling out my very essence to fill the vacuum being created.
I’m used to the drainage now.
Not like I could stop it if I wanted to.

But something so strong and debilitating should come with conditions. Some set of requirements that restrict access. Another layer of protection for myself from harm. That would be nice for me, wouldn’t it? Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it, my heart chooses what it wants in complete disregard for the precise decision making going on in my head. If my mind is the polished steel scalpel surgeon, my heart is the trigger-happy Ak-47 firing atomic bombs.

It only arms in the presence of emotional connection.
No activation codes for what you do or can do for me,
or what you think you do.
Not because you told me you love me.
Not because I owe it to you,
that wouldn’t happen anyway.
Not because I think you’re attractive.
Not because you got in my pants.
But there is bomb detonation upon just finding someone to aim for.
That necessitates it stays far away.

Keeping it on the surface is the equivalent of a death wish. A part of me that causes me to continuously give away all I am? Of course I keep that across mountain ranges and deserts and oceans inside my soul. The surround it with electrified barbed wire, a radioactive cloud, and mine fields. I’d be handicapping myself is something like that was easy accesd to everyone. It siphons me of that warm little glow and never stops.

No stopping because the target got too far.
Not even a spasm on the trigger finger at the pain the target caused me.
When that bomb goes off I’m deadlocked into doing anything for you forever.
My devotion surrenders to your will.
An unconditional silent oath that I’m yours forever.
Spanning across birthdays apart,
time isn’t a factor.
An endless flow.
Not like I could stop it if I wanted to.

But it’s not like you would want it to stop. You only benefit.
I only lose.
Even more so if my soul isn’t met by yours.
You can’t control the matters of the heart,
I have no power to cease as you have none to initiate.

Til next time. Stay frosty.