Love?

I told myself never to obsess anymore, this about 4 years ago, and it seems as if creating a blog about a girl, although not just any girl, would seem obsessive. Yet reverting back to the first level of poetry, feelings about the relationship, is here entirely due. With no more psychologist all I have is the page on which to vent. And venting is precisely what I shall do. Be it venting that annoys, venting that makes you weep, venting that pushes you away, or that even draws you near; all the same I will vent. For with/without Leyat Shira, you are my song, I will need to vent.

Ventilation: so that air can circulate; without this ventilation blood cannot flow, for the heart is made to stop, freeze, rage, burn, break, shatter, burst, explode, back and forth, minute by minute, with an uncontrollable swinging, day by day. As much as I hate her I love her. But as is typical with me, the hatred fosters and deepens the love as the love propels and promulgates the hatred.

She loves another who loves none,
yet appreciating her,
as being the most caring,
he desires her to return:
perhaps only to satisfy his
hurt, desperate, childish ego
in need of affirmation
in need of love; yet maybe
he knows she's the best, but simply
doesn't respect or care enough
to cease his selfishness and want
the best for her, as I do.
I would give her up if I thought, sincerely,
that someone else was/is better for her.
Knowing I am the best, I still cannot know
that I am the best for her.
But she deserves to be treated well in return
for the way she treats well, not just used
and abused: she deserves what her parents have
that Birdie does not have, reciprocity.
And as much as I say it she still doesn't know
what it means.

I will vent, oh yes, I do submit,
yet subconsciously play my games
that she will one day realize
I never really submitted
I am losing, for she doesn't want to
doesn't understand
I am winning, for when she does,
she'll see who has been losing the most.
But she is very very good, and we, an angel together
would, if she allowed, if she understood and realized,
would flourish as the spoilt flower in the greenhouse,
the one that, after having blossomed, is given,
absolutely everything.