Love Languages by Sarosh Nandwani

I hate asking for love, but                                   There are five love languages, 

sometimes when my body is                            including words of affirmation, 

touch-starved and longing, I                                 quality time, physical touch, 

must ask please, can some                                       receiving gifts, and acts of 

one please love me, and                                     service, and sometimes people 

obviously the language varies,                             love them all, and sometimes 

but if I may, I would really                              they only love one, and I am the 

please enjoy a hug, or maybe                           type of person who needs words 

a hundred hugs, all lasting                                 the most because they keep me 

even a second, or maybe                                     sane, and perhaps it makes me 

a hundred seconds, yes I                                     naive to believe in what I hear, 

think I would enjoy that, just                                  but when I ask for love, and 

a hundred hugs, each a hundred                         someone tells me they love me 

seconds, and if you could pet                            I still believe them even though 

my hair and call me beautiful                                I had to ask, and if that is not 

inside and out, and tell me                                     a testament to the poet in me, 

emotions are fickle creatures,                                 I don’t know what would be, 

as are humans, and both collapse                                because for me to believe 

sometimes, and both need                                   what you say, I have to project 

a little more attention some days,                      my feelings through yours back 

or maybe a lot more attention,                            to myself, a mere echo of what 

and the dependency makes me                        you feel, or perhaps simply what 

feel like a flower under an awning                       I feel, so in the end, I suppose 

that must be watered, instead of                               it is possible that instead of 

fiercely growing up open                             being watered, I really am a flower 

for the rain to slowly envelope                   enveloped by rain and maybe that is 

              me                                                                                                fierce.