Love Is

Is Love being tucked gently in a warm blanket by

kind hands in December

or is Love sharp pain like shattered glass,

cold and unforgiving in your bones?


Is Love a state of numb acceptance interrupted by punches

in the gut

leaving bruises yellow and violet

when caught off guard, when surprised once more.

Scalding water running down your spine

trying to wash away the memory, the trace evidence of happiness that dares

to pull you back.

Trying to distract yourself.

When after fighting with every fiber in your body to ignore

to move on

to protect yourself

you are startled by a tug along the string connecting you to the one you





Is Love watching him light a fire

begging him to put it out

laying burned and bloodied

being told it's your place to forgive

to move on.


But when your skin is scarred and the smell of charred flesh is imprinted in your soul,

how can you forget who ignited the flames?


Does Love flourish on neither perfection nor desertion?


Love is not painless

but Love is not forced.

Love does not require you to numb your pain

as Love is not flawless,

yet Love is always returned.

This is what we always seem to miss,

Love is returned.


This poem is about: 
My family


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