Don’t speak about it,
please.
Ohh yes I do want it…
Sometimes.
But the thought of it sickens me
I resent it,
I want to
turn away my face.
Sometimes it doesn’t exist
I find it gross.
Then I see one
and I want it,
but that isn’t love –
is it?
Is it a noun? A feeling? A doing-word?
Ag, rather not.
But maybe one day
when I’m older
I’ll learn to love to love.
By: Engela Potgieter
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