why, the poet loves the lamb, you know
Lydia Rae Bush
I took you, and I took love,
and I made something out of them,
and I suppose it could have been a baby,
but it was words.
Modern day slaps me on the wrist and says to
stop nurturing love for those who do not love me back,
but there is no such thing.
And if love's the only rose that cannot die,
who are these industrialists
to tell me to stop plucking love's seeds and
planting them?
I but water the product that
our loves can grow, and if my rose but
grows alongside,
who am I to mind?
When my beloveds cannot promenade
with me through my lawn,
then the cure for my loneliness
shall be the garden they spawn.
Lydia Rae Bush (she/her) is a poet writing on embodiment, trauma recovery, and social-emotional development. Her chapbook Free Bleeding is forthcoming with Manic Pixie Publishing. When not writing, she can be found singing and dancing, especially in bed when she is supposed to be going to sleep. linktr.ee/lydiaraebush