Because I love you.

I always admired the way our hands communicated.

I loved feeling your middle finger graze over mine.

I will not forget the way you healed every bruise on my knuckles with just a touch of your soft fingertips.

I wanted to wipe out every moment that was ever lived without you.

I could taste the times where my body sang in different languages just to reach yours.

This is what love feels like.

The way my heart pulled all the veins attached to it when you glanced my way.

My bones shook at the mere thought of having your lips against mine.

That is what love feels like.

And boy, I will not forget the way my soul ached to be with yours.

All those late nights when you fell asleep on the phone,

and I wanted nothing more than to wrap my fragile arms around you.

Your breathing was unsettle around me,

and I knew it was for the right reasons,

because I felt it too.

That’s what love felt like.

You painted me yellow,

and soon that HAD to become my favorite color,

because all I could crave was the happiness that came with loving you.

I wanted to paint the world this color that was too happy to make sense.

We were too happy to make sense.

Was I colorblind?

Because for some reason I couldn’t change the color scheme.

You started asking unusual favors from me and claimed that I HAD to do it,

because if I didn’t “ I didn’t love you.”

As if my love could fade from my bloodstream so quick if I didn’t do what you asked for.

The favors you asked were imprinted on my mind.

Your grey love followed me to the school,

in the walls,

and soon on my skin.

My veins became grey as the nights began to pierce my lungs with poison.

Your fingertips re-molded themselves into thumbtacks,

and I couldn’t feel my arms when my skin was cracked with insecurities and lust.

Is this what love feels like?

I cannot help that we as humans feel anger and decide to unleash it on the ones we love,

“Believe me when I say that I love you,”

you spit in my face as you tried to convince me that the actions you execute,

are all based off of the “love” you have for me.

I knew it wasn’t healthy but I kept suffocating myself with the words “because I love you.”

You implanted parasites in my mind that were eating out every single opinion I had.

This isn’t love anymore.

This isn’t love.

I tried searching for a single emotion in your lifeless eyes,

and I knew this was only decaying my brain from the inside out.

When you ask people what home is?

They explain how their houses stay in tact when their emotions have stormed,

the way their home smells like cinnamon,

and how the tv is always on.

They tell you the stories of their uncle Ted breaking the remote,

the story of aunt Jane’s obsession with apple pie,

and how they spend most nights playing Monopoly.

They explain the love they all share and how their bond is stronger every day because of the love they carry.

I’m jealous, because how do I begin to explain that my home is filled with empty pizza boxes, and broken bones?

I don’t want to explain the broken TV in my living room,

and why it always smells like burnt dreams and cigarettes.

How do I tell everyone that my home is you?

My stomach churns at the thought that I must sell you what you desire of me for the words “because I love you,”

and realizing that with every request the love gets thinner.

It isn’t love anymore when I spend most of my nights praying for blue eyes that could cure my sadness.

It is not love when communication with my only sibling is an issue.

It is not love when you steal my body for yourself for the exchange of those three simple words.

It is not love feeling as though I am stranded on an island with nothing but your intoxication.

You are not love.

I did not find it in you anymore.

I tried searching that whole island for a signal of humanity left,

and there is where I found what true love was.

I noticed the way his eyes sparkled when he spoke about art,

how although I barely knew him he carried me with such gentle care,

as if he knew how fragile I was.

I fell for the way he picked me from the ground,

and showed off the wilted petals I had grown.

His black coffee showed that he was secure without the sugar,

because he was sweet enough.

I prayed for the calm waters in his blue eyes,

and in my distress I found the kindest soul.

One who cares about healthy relationships.

Our veins overflow with care, love, honesty, and compassion,

and now I can admit I know what love is.

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
My community
Our world

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