Love’s Skinned Knees

Love is a gentle thing, a damaged thing,
a fluttering against the glass thing.

Beats its wings like a hummingbird and
wipes the nectar off its lips with a
trembling hand.

Kicks its feet into the air at the highest
point on the swing’s arc. Laughs
and launches itself into the stillness,
trembling hand becoming a
trembling body.

They say Love hurts, but what they
don’t realise is that Love is the one
hurting.

Love is the one sprawled on the
concrete with a mouthful of
blood, the one tripping up the
stairs, the one tripping over the
slightly raised tiles. Graceless love.

Heartwarming Love.

Love picks itself off the ground,
brushes the bark off its legs, whines
when it sees the skin peeling off
its knees.

Like a small child, Love curls up
and wails.

Love curls up and wails,
and we call come running.

By Darshana Suresh

Biography:

Darshana Suresh is a 19-year-old Indian born poet residing in New Zealand, where she is currently studying Psychology and English Literature. In her free time, she can either be found planning novels that are never written, or dreaming about all the places she has not seen. She’s not okay yet, but she’s trying to be.