what changes, if I write more poems
will he love me for it;
pick up these words strung with hurt
and call it his?
I would have crossed oceans for that man-
make a haven out of my arms
and let him stay so long as he wants
but here, there is very little comfort
in a heart that knows no home,
knows no way to settle down-
they wander and make an airbnb
out of your body,
mold themselves into your life temporarily
what changes, there is only so much
a man can give-
ask for his heart and he leaves.