What the Hell?

What is love? Oh god, what a good question.

What is love?

Can anyone explain what it is, or isn’t?

What the hell even is it?

 

Love isn’t.

Love isn’t depression and self loathing at three in the morning,

Questioning why you aren’t good enough for a call back.

 

Love isn’t.

Love isn’t sneaking behind your partner’s back because they wouldn’t like what you’re doing.

Yet you still do it.

 

Love isn’t.

Love isn’t purposefully hurting your partner or yourself

Simply for some attention.

 

Love isn’t.

Love isn’t lies and deceit and cruelty,

For whatever reason you may have.

 

Love is.

It is beautiful and true,

Selfless and selfish.

 

Love is.
Love is learning sign language because your partner is hard of hearing,

So they can sign to you across a room and laugh when you mess up.

 

Love is.

Love is listening to your partner rambling even though you have no idea what they’re talking about,

Just because you want them to be happy and you love seeing their eyes light up.

 

Love does.
Love does hurt at times, but it is growing pains,

As your bones begin to shape and your heart begins to grow.

 

Love does.

Love does feel weird and bubbly,

As you and your partner both laugh so hard you snort.

 

Love does.

Love does change you,

But as you begin to realize, it’s for the better.

 

Love doesn’t.

Love doesn’t send you spiraling into a pit of anxiety,

As you question if they’re being honest.

 

Love doesn’t.

Love doesn’t stop you from being who you are,

Just because your partner wants someone else.

 

Love doesn’t.

Love doesn’t make the time drag on until you wish it would just be over with,

Because you’re tired of dealing with them.

 

Love hurts.

Love hurts like hell and it makes you weep,

But at the end of the night, it wipes off your running mascara, and whispers to you softly.

 

Love ends.

It ends once you both give up on trying,

It destroys when one gives up on trying.

 

Love is universal.

It is painful,

Beautiful,

Enchanting, destructive.

 

Love dies.

It dies when one or both of you give up.

It does not die when you bury your partner into the ground.

This time,

Love is.

Love is depression, love is hurting, love is silent, deafening.

Love is never seeing their eyes light up again.

Love is crying so hard that your stomach aches and you feel empty.

Love is anxiety, it is questioning reality.

Love is wanting someone else just to take the pain away.

Love is being tired of dealing with this emptiness.

Love is having no one else to wipe off your running mascara, or to rub your back gently as you sob.

Love is empty.

But then, love is.

Love is seeing the colors in the leaves as autumn takes over.

Love is hearing the birds sing once more.

Love is when your heart aches in a good way at seeing a teenage couple laugh over nothing.

Love is remembering,

Love is nostalgia, and finally,

Love is looking forward to the future.

Love is being home.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
My community

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