“ what does love look like ”
every poet has a varying autopsy report. when you dissect it to determine how the beating organ views love, you’ll be surprised by the results: sometimes, you’ll find lavender soft silk, sometimes you’ll find teeth and guts, sometimes you’ll find scraped love poems they’ve ripped one hungover night, sometimes you’ll find a bed of poem that’ll flourish more and more into a goddamn greenhouse. take mine out of my ribcage and i guarantee you: you’ll find soft blades of grass sprinkled with dirt beneath my fingernails. you’ll find a boy who crashed towards me like a seiche wave, a mirage of a half-lidden smile in the water,
cut me open. cut me deep. play around with my ventricles and veins and i tell you, that this poet’s autopsy says that loves looks like– ❛ you. ❜ because what am i but a smitten boy who believes in nothing else but the truth of ❛ love looks exactly like you, izuku. ❜ meme. accepting.
