Gemma Hardman’s poem: What I Could Give You


I think I could love you

with everything.

And I do not mean that

in the pretty way people say it.

I mean there would be nothing held back.

No small room in me kept locked

in case I needed somewhere to survive you.

I would love you with the part of me

that notices when your voice changes

by half a degree.

With the part that would remember

which days are hard for you

before you remembered them yourself.

I would love you in the quiet ways.

The glass of water.

The hand at the small of your back.

The knowing when not to ask.

The making space beside me

as though your body had always belonged there.

And perhaps that is why

I cannot do this.

Because I know what I am capable of giving.

I know how far I go

when I love.

There is no shallow end in me.

I have tried to grow one.

I have tried to become someone

who can want without falling toward it,

who can touch something beautiful

without imagining how it might feel

to keep it.

But I am not built that way.

I love like something leaving its body.

And I have spent too much of my life

trying to get back into mine.

So when people tell me

someone will come along,

I do not feel hope.

I feel fear.

Because someone might.

Someone might stand close enough

for all this tenderness

to begin moving toward them.

Someone might make me believe

there is somewhere safe

to put it.

And then I would have to live

with the possibility

of losing them.

Of waking one morning

with all that love still in me

and nowhere for it to go.

I think that would finish something.

So perhaps I will choose the loneliness

I already know.

There is cruelty in it, yes,

but it is a cruelty

with predictable hands.

It does not suddenly decide

it no longer wants me.

It does not kiss me

and then become uncertain.

It does not let me build a future

inside a look

and then ask for the keys back.

Sometimes I think

this is the saddest thing about me:

not that I am alone,

but that I have finally understood

how much I could love someone

and the knowledge of it

has made me afraid

to ever try.

Because if you let me,

I could love you

with my whole being.

And there are nights

when I think I would rather carry

all of that unused love

for the rest of my life

than survive

having nowhere to put it

after you.


Gemma Hardman is a Lincolnshire-based poet and spoken-word performer writing as Six Seeds Poetry. Her work explores trauma, identity, grief, womanhood and the complicated business of being human.

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