Love Is..

Love is a funny word.

Wrapped in ribbons and cursed tongues

To me. Love doesn’t exist.

Not like it does in movies and songs.

Love is not some fairytale ending

Soaked in true love’s kiss.

Love is much darker than that.

Love is a word.

Drenched in lies and deceit.

Dragged through the dirt and carefully placed back on its pedestal.

Love is an ex carving my name into his veins.

Love is the girl that falls asleep each night afraid he might not be alive when she wakes.

Love is a boy. Tortured by words of hate from his whole world.

Love is his world. A girl who doesn’t care how badly he bleeds for her.

Love is the scar on my left ribcage from the anxiety his empty threats caused me.

Love is the cuts on a boys arm that he hides from society.

Love is selfish. Love is beaten. Love is bruised.

Love is giving your heart to someone that has no intention of caring for it.

Love is the mental illnesses that the boy and the girl suffer from.

Love is collapsing on the bathroom floor during school because you cannot hold yourself together for even an hour.

Love is calling in sick to work because you can't breathe.

Love is being hospitalized on suicide watch.

That’s the love that too many of us experience.

Raw. Broken. Shattered.


A love that most would call Abuse.

A loveless exchange filled with enough lies to make one fall.

The abused falls endlessly in love with her abuser.

She will call it love.

But she has forgotten what love is.

Her thoughts consumed by the abuse.

She forgets that not all love is as dreadful as theirs.

She forgets the feeling of real love

Like a warm kiss on the cheek.

Like opening your favorite book for the fifth time.

Love like waking up in someones' arms.

Love like its supposed to feel

Love is a mother singing her child a sweet lullaby.

Love is Get Well Soon cards and 2 hour phone calls.

Love is beautiful.

Love is raw. 

Not raw like the fresh skin under the claw marks on her arms.

It's raw like the apples she used to pick with her family when she was young.

It's raw like her open chest before the depression hit.

Before she shut down.

Before her heartbeat became a constant reminder of her pain.

Back when the thumping in her chest meant nothing more than the joy of another day.

Back when she could wake up in the morning

Look up at the sky shining through the window,

And believe in her heart

That she was happy.

Reviews

[Jack Binimbul]

I am not a fan of love poems. Not a fan of gushy romance and happy endings. So when I clicked on this poem, I expected to be disappointed. Instead, I was pleasantly surprised and moved. The imagery you've given is beautiful, flowing and visceral. I really enjoyed this admission that 'love' is a multifaceted experience and is not always midnight cuddles in front of the fire and sweet notes left by the coffee machine.