Love Lives In Strange Places Poem by Yvonne Iversen

Whispering.
Like demons from the past.
It never changes.
It never does.

I still remember all those years of
lingering pain.
Words can be crushed by what can’t be seen.
Lies can hurt more than the truth.

And still,
that’s what I believe.
You made me the victim.
A victim of my former self.

There’s a whisper from my past
that caress my soul.
I’m never going to trust the likes of you again.
The guilt of what I was then.

I can’t describe how,
but I do know that
love lives in strange places.
Like this.

Even though I hesitate,
it makes me pure somehow.
Still feeling the same,
sitting here in this mermaid chair.

I’d love to love,
but I daren’t try.
Even if I wanted to,
I have no choice.

It’s bound to be different,
yet nothing seems to change.
Miserable being the operative word,
still with a bright smile.