The Affection Affliciton

I am tired of everyone's disapproval. This poem explores others thinking themselves the authority on my love life.

When I need an embrace or hushed comfort
The kind of arms I get are pitchforks and torches
They don't care that I'm already hurt
With a chest covered in bruises and scorches

It's not their blood, but they get so riled
as if by my feelings, love's meaning is defiled
I'm told how wrong I am and how I'm a fool
And that I give so much power, that I'm a tool

They see me a leper, not a lover
Like I've only sickness to spread
They treat it a crime to always think of another
or to wish I'd wake and find her in my bed

The pain is mine, but perhaps it's not enough
for they cast stones at me when I say it's tough
They may apologize, but I know it is fleeting
As if my ardor is in some way defeating

Why can't my love just be and exist?
Why do they see my affection as if it's a cyst?
I mean no harm and just want to help
When I want support, I've only myself

This derision comes from inside and out
I sometimes feel nowhere is safe
They think they know what my love is about
As if it all fits into a neat little space

Obsession's the word they use, but I know they think worse
I don't understand the condemnation when it's me getting hurt

Author's Note

Opinions welcome