Poem 5775630297 - Beautiful War

It’s a lot of things.
I used to think I knew what love was.
Now? Now I’m not so sure.

Sometimes “love” is a lie.
Your head knows it, but your heart won’t accept it.

Oh honey. Love is complicated.
It’s messy and it its ugly and beautiful and glorious and …
It’s tears and laughter and joy and inevitable heart break.

Sometimes “love” has conditions. Sometimes you loose yourself.
You sacrifice, make concessions, and make excuses for the inexcusable.
It’s learning to compartmentalize.
It’s crying in the bathroom so he can’t see and blame you for a guilty conscience.

“Love” means loosing; loosing yourself, friends.
“Love” is forgetting; forgetting the fights at 3am; 
forgetting that you used to be a whole person and
Not just pieces barely held together.

Love gives us a purpose, brings us back to ourselves, 
reminds us that our worth is not
Determined by another’s value of us.

Love is honest. Love is wearing your favourite clothes again.
Love is going for long drives to nowhere
Love is unbridled laughter.
Love is living unapologetically.

Love – real love – creates.
“Love” destroys.


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