Poetry by Farah Lawal Harris

Confusing Passion


i hunger for something to be passionate about
aside from love.
love is so
transient,
so full of
longing.
half of the word, “love”
is made of vowels
and the opening of my mouth to say the
“o”
gets me every time.

how can i spend time being passionate about
something so difficult to define,
so misused and abused and confusing
to the eye?
and the ear?
and the heart?

but passion lies in the heart.
i wish passion would wake up and stretch its limbs
to my brain, become
tangible
for once and manifest itself in my days.
passion doesn’t pay bills
and neither does love.

it just adds more debts.
i owe words
and being present
and truly listening
and affection
and kisses
and staying up late when i’m tired
and compromise
and future-building
and seriousness
and effort.

i gain so much,
but i owe so much of myself.
and i’m just getting to know myself.

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