What It Really Means

Love

 

a word too commonly misused

maybe something I can only do

as if the people in this world don't understand

all of the meaning packed

into that one hand

full of words that only roll off the tongue

as if those four letters were only to be found

as meaningless as the grains of sand

that lie upon the ground

 

Love

 

a concept well overdone

their filtered pics on IG

with matching kissy face emojis

or the hugs and the pecks on the cheeks I see

the “I Love you"s in the halls I hear

the flowers given

soon to be wilted

being so close

yet never feeling so near

is not all what love is meant to be

at least, not necessarily

yet people think

 

Love

 

to some, only a game

with a sticker saying “Try me!”

and the cost of one buck

to try your own luck

to be handed a ball

written on it

my name?

and when you fail, you pay for another

his sister, her brother

‘til you fall back into your own debt

a hole, inescapable

flooded with your own regret

 

Love

 

a hardship not for everyone

to those who bide their time

too shy

to even try

a heart

naïve and fragile

able to open

yet so close to being broken

I ask you: “Why..

do you rush in the way you do?”

 

Because I say to you:

 

Love

 

is a word too commonly misused

a concept well overdone

to some, only a game

a hardship not for everyone

 

but

 

to those

who are careful

and wise

always there by your side

admiration and respect in their eyes

the bonds made possible

regardless of however improbable

of a connection made

between you and me

then and only then

will the people see

how we were meant to be

 

 

because

 

 

True Love

 

is the patience I hold for you,

the length of time, irrelevant.

The seconds may pass

yet I remain.

Wanting

Waiting

Every moment I am not with you

only makes me wish I was

even more.

You are the twelve

and I am the hour hand.

You are the horizon

and I, the sun.

Steadily, will I follow through my course,

destined to meet you once again.

 

True Love

 

is every kindness you give to me.

The times at which I was at my weakest point,

you stand there,

with the endless well upon which you draw,

ready at any moment,

To connect

To console

To comfort

the budding flower

which you care for

so dearly

so tenderly.

All the while,

the flower,

it grows and it blooms,

the endlessness of its gardener,

unfathomable.

 

True Love

 

is the protection I provide

to you,

from all that may harm,

or may wish harm

upon us.

I am the chest.

You are my treasure.

Fortitude is my practice.

Protection is my purpose.

Rugged and sturdy,

my exterior resists

against the prying hands

and the watchful eyes.

Safe and secure,

my interior holds

supporting the beauty

I am entrusted to care.

 

True Love

 

is our full and open honesty,

our record,

our true photo album,

our pages

bound together

holding and cherishing

the moments we share

reliving our memories

our experiences

to fall in love

again and again and again

to stand not behind you

nor before you

but beside you

as equals

for better or for worse,

for richer or for poorer,

in sickness and in health,

until death do us part.

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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