The Manipulation of Love

A few days ago as I packed up my apartment for the final time, I found notebooks full of formulas and doodles. A little over a year and a half ago I was double-majoring in Civil Engineering and Applied Mathematics. I was also learning to heal from a relationship that had left me drained emotionally, physically and spiritually. I was recovering from having anxiety attacks everyday, all day. I used to wake myself up at 7am every morning with a deep pain in my chest and an intense inability to breathe. Months later, I found myself still inspired to write poems that would later make me cry.

This post isn’t to highlight how beautiful the poems I wrote are but to bring attention to the importance of healing. Back then, I was under the false pretense that the most beautiful form of love causes both people to feel inexplicable pain. I now know that I was wrong.

This post is called ‘The Manipulation of Love’ because in the middle of a conversation with one of my best-friends, I finally realized that I never truly knew what love was. I had become enamored with the manipulation of love. During that conversation, I also realized that my current relationship is teaching me a lot about everything I assumed I already knew.

Here are the poems I found in one of my notebooks:


Do you still love me the way I love you?

If you do… There’s nothing we can do so let me love the thought of you.

There when I need it, gone when I don’t.

Loving me was never easy,

I wrote poetry about the cuts you left on my heart but I’d hold the blade if it meant loving you again.

An explosive love that ebbs and flows.


She falls for men with hearts the size of baby birds fluttering in their chests.

Until all at once these birds fly far away.

She chases, blindfolded, arms tied behind her back.

One thought on “The Manipulation of Love

  1. I wrote poetry
    about the cuts
    you left on my heart
    I’d hold the blade
    if it meant loving you again. –BSM

    That line is a poem on its own. A tortured-soul poem, but still a poem.


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