Kerry Bernatchez Poet Lyric

Newborn Love

Yeah…
I had to learn how to speak,
had to learn how to aim,
had to learn how to love without fire.
I’m new at this,
but I’m learning.

I used to talk like thunder
but never said the real thing.
Thought I was an open book
but every page was sealed clean.
Proto-poems, half-lines,
little sparks that never lit.
I thought I was loud,
but I was just a quiet myth.

Kept my truth in a locked jaw,
tongue sharp like a blade.
Didn’t know I was dangerous
when I thought I was brave.
Didn’t know I could hurt you
when I thought I was protecting me.
Didn’t know I was closed off
’til the words finally set me free.

Then the ink cracked open
and the flood came through.
I learned how to write
like the world was brand new.
I learned how to speak
without shaking inside.
I learned how to feel
without running to hide.

I’m a newborn,
learning the language of love,
learning how to hold my tongue
instead of letting it cut.
Learning how to aim my truth
without turning it to fire.
Never meant to burn you —
but I know I misfired.

If I ever scorch you again,
you should walk away clean.
Not ’cause you’re unworthy —
you’re the softest I’ve seen.
I’m learning the art of gentleness,
even if I’m not subtle enough.
I’m a newborn,
learning the language of love.

Life hit us both with storms,
left marks we don’t erase.
You had ghosts in your shadow,
I had armor on my face.
We talked through static and distance,
through years we couldn’t claim.
But you saw me anyway,
even when I didn’t know my name.

And when I finally opened,
you didn’t flinch or fold.
You just listened like a lighthouse
to a story never told.
You moved big, you moved certain,
you moved straight into the light.
And I’m learning how to meet you
without starting a fight.

Now the ink stays honest,
and the truth stays warm.
I’m learning how to speak
without raising a storm.
I’m learning how to love
without losing control.
I’m learning how to stay soft
and still carry my soul.

I’m a newborn,
learning the language of love,
learning how to hold my tongue
instead of letting it cut.
Learning how to aim my truth
without turning it to fire.
Never meant to burn you —
but I know I misfired.

If I ever scorch you again,
you should walk away clean.
Not ’cause you’re unworthy —
you’re the softest I’ve seen.
I’m learning the art of gentleness,
even if I’m not subtle enough.
I’m a newborn,
learning the language of love.

You make the world pink,
and I’m learning how to walk in color.
You move big,
and I’m learning how to breathe slower.
You love loud,
and I’m learning how to speak softer.
You’re healing,
and I’m learning
how not to mistake fear for fire.

I’m a newborn,
learning the language of love,
learning how to stay open
without falling apart.
Learning how to stay honest
without drawing blood.
I never meant to hurt you —
and I’m learning how not to.

If I ever burn you again,
you should leave me behind.
But I’m trying every day
to keep gentleness in mind.
I’m learning how to love you
without the armor above.
I’m a newborn,
learning the language of love.

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