At 5 love was doing things I didn’t want to for people that didn’t know how to love me without putting me in a cage and only giving me access to themselves.
At 10 it was forgetting myself for the grief of others
At 15 love was being willing to destroy myself for someone else
At 20 love was unconditional acceptance of another’s behavior, and giving the benefit of every good reason to doubt
At 25 love is what is emotionally safe for my family, which is what is emotionally safe for myself.
Today love is in the listening of those outside me that support my health and well being. It is listening when I’ve caused hurt, and receiving true love when it arrives. Today, love is going to therapy, endless I forgive yous, and hope and faith that we can be better people.
Love is waking up next to her in the morning and falling asleep with my arm around her at night. Love is dancing with her in the kitchen to jazz music while dinner is cooking. Love is watching the malnourished dog we found tied to a tree not know what a dog toy is, but now insists on carrying her monkey with her everywhere. Love is the way our other dog presses his head into our bodies when he wants some extra love.
Before my current partner, love was not a word I knew or felt. The idea I had of love previously was chaotic. It was conditional. It came with terms and an agenda. The only thing I ever loved before was the forest because the forest was the only safety I had ever known.
At 10 years old, love was yelling and screaming and tears.
At 20 years old, love was searching for parent figures in people who were hot coal and ash.
If I live a very long time I hope I will be able to define love as laying in bed, holding her hand, and looking into her eyes as I take my last breath knowing we had one hell of a beautiful ride together.
I can only respond though so tentative - who would be closed to a question posed by a poet? - no, I cannot define love, not by occasion, not by the use of words so thin they no longer cover the bed, not by stories of risk, of loss, of peace, not even by stories of goosebumps. Why do you ask? You know the ideas you've welded and not without pain - do you seek solidarity definitions; that doesn't ring true
At a month shy of 52,
My definition of love has changed.
No longer the reckless, overflowing, all-consuming
Fire of my younger days
An intense conflagration
Threatening to burn us both
Now, it's the feeling of wanting to pull my chest apart
Left from right
And let it pour forth from the depth of who I am
Like sunshine touching everything in its path
Steady and warm
Fiercely bright
It's deeper than it once was
Given more freely
Without the need for a reflection
Shining through all the cracks of past hurt
Heedless of lessons I never seem to learn
But worth the risk
Fearless and blazing
At 5 love was doing things I didn’t want to for people that didn’t know how to love me without putting me in a cage and only giving me access to themselves.
At 10 it was forgetting myself for the grief of others
At 15 love was being willing to destroy myself for someone else
At 20 love was unconditional acceptance of another’s behavior, and giving the benefit of every good reason to doubt
At 25 love is what is emotionally safe for my family, which is what is emotionally safe for myself.
Today love is in the listening of those outside me that support my health and well being. It is listening when I’ve caused hurt, and receiving true love when it arrives. Today, love is going to therapy, endless I forgive yous, and hope and faith that we can be better people.
Love is waking up next to her in the morning and falling asleep with my arm around her at night. Love is dancing with her in the kitchen to jazz music while dinner is cooking. Love is watching the malnourished dog we found tied to a tree not know what a dog toy is, but now insists on carrying her monkey with her everywhere. Love is the way our other dog presses his head into our bodies when he wants some extra love.
Before my current partner, love was not a word I knew or felt. The idea I had of love previously was chaotic. It was conditional. It came with terms and an agenda. The only thing I ever loved before was the forest because the forest was the only safety I had ever known.
At 10 years old, love was yelling and screaming and tears.
At 20 years old, love was searching for parent figures in people who were hot coal and ash.
If I live a very long time I hope I will be able to define love as laying in bed, holding her hand, and looking into her eyes as I take my last breath knowing we had one hell of a beautiful ride together.
I can only respond though so tentative - who would be closed to a question posed by a poet? - no, I cannot define love, not by occasion, not by the use of words so thin they no longer cover the bed, not by stories of risk, of loss, of peace, not even by stories of goosebumps. Why do you ask? You know the ideas you've welded and not without pain - do you seek solidarity definitions; that doesn't ring true