What is love?
See, you taught me growing up that yelling and slamming doors was love,
That me asking my mother where you were, was love.
You taught me that I was only there to sit and look pretty,
That a split lip is the consequence for disobedience.
You made me think that my men should have bloody knuckles and other women,
And I, broken noses and rainbow bruises.
You made me believe that my only worth is when I opened my legs and kept my mouth shut.
But I know different now.
Love is the way he holds when I have a nightmare, that is really just a memory.
Love is the look on his face when I walk out the bathroom in the morning, the first thing he sees.
Love is the way he holds the door open for me and smacks my ass as I walk through.
Love is the way he stays after we fight.
Love is what we have made it and how hard we have worked for it.
Love is me.
Love is him.
I love him,
And he loves me.