I keep love at arm's length, even when it's offered freely.

Then I met someone new.

A kind, sincere heart,
who never asked for anything.

In a short time, and in the simplest way,
he showed me I was more than enough.
No questions.
No demands.
He was just, there.

We talked about everything.
Politics, childhood, dreams, faith, and love.

But even then,
something in my head wouldn’t stop.

It laughed at me,
said I should’ve known better.
That I should’ve focused on myself.
That I had no right to feel anything at all.

And if I kept going, he’d see the truth
that I’m not all that good.

When I chose to receive,
my mind whispered,
isn’t it cruel to give him false hope?

So I forced myself to feel ready.

To receive.
To give.
To become.

But still,
I sabotaged it.

I felt guilty for receiving,
and guilty for refusing.

Guilty for silence.
Guilty for speaking.

Whatever I did, even in my thought,
my head always found a way
to blame me for it all.