They ask why?
I ask why this hurts so much?
I also say,
How can I not?
What is love, if not real?.
If not Blueberry muffin Purple, and deep pink vulvas,
If not the Majesty from the highest Supreme Courts of Love,.
If not honest, raw, brutal in blood,
Smeared over Lily petals, it’s aroma seducing like Datura,
The Devils trumpet,
Blowing Angelic and deep Blue Sea into Me,
Mellow,
A Love,
A love I can only describe now because I’m here now,
On the other side,
Of the Onslaught,
And still, I am telling myself Lies, in what I believe to be True,
I still believe it was True,
Because it Was,
Because,
The love felt familiar
My heart, got closer to the Love I speak,
A Foreign Familiar Language,
Foreign,
Cloaked, Like Me.
Love,
What is Love?
if not the Stars that Spill from my Chest,
if not in this battle with Self,
this Knives, and Harsh words,
hidden behind Traumas and Triggers,
but yet I am honest,
I stand Here, I Unite, I Try,
We all Try,
We all Try, What we Can,
I fight for Love,
I come Back to Love,
Always.
Always,
Always.
But we know that Always Love can be hurtful too,
that Sometimes, it can come tied in Thorns,
a Hand in a bag I cannot carry,
a Bag that is Burning right through Me,
and Us,
and This,
Its on Fire,
and I am Burning
I have Been Burning, Shaken from my Eyes,
the Fear that came from Being Back in Babylon,
in the darker of cities, its Pretty Bells to sing itself to Sleep,
My love,
is Present,
Even then.
When you think,
When you think it to be a way,
When its not,
even when Love is not enough,
Or we think its Not,
When we think we are not Worthy,
When Love is the battleground of our past,
When Love Scorches through us and brings the Burns of our most intimate Wounds,
Love will Always Be,
I am Love.
Ruined.
and Hopeful.
Because if Not This, then What?