whoever said you'd meet a hufflepuff in heaven was wrong

For years I've been trying to write
something that would cause your earth to shake.

Not because it possesses any eloquent grandeur
with words like "cataclysm" or "surreptitious"
nor due to any ritzy status
that may befall my unkempt and devil-ish person.

But that this is a sermon of the state of my mind
nobody is going to read, write? 

Even in scientific and philosophical occupations
there isn't much derision and division into different schools of thought
to a Hufflepuff suffocating on all the weighty labels
forcefully pinned to their soul.

Echo in the breathing room as we feel the grass beneath our feet, 
wind matriculating through our hair, wanting not just 
another warm and loving body embracing ours,
but a specific one. 

Not for me the bravado of the every day,
the martyrdom of intersecting a bullet's path,
in fact, I did disdain of that reckless abandon
called love long ago.

I’m stuck in the middle (life)
with no way up (to heaven) or down (to hell).

Here is the story of a girl 
who went through so many tragedies
to be so many things, but never mine, 

Here are some pleading words for you to read:
this limbo of love may be a bad habit, but it is Heaven.