I used to crave the friction
Of toxicity in my life;
Something to lean against
That always pushed back.
My boss once said
Misery loves company and
I have found myself in the company
Of many a miserable man.
But you have come out of the shadows,
Running, and I never knew
I could crave stability
Like I crave your arms.
You are predictable in the most wonderful way.
I can always count on
You wreak havoc in my heart;
Breaths that take miles to reach me.
You are every metaphor, cliche, and warning-
Butterflies forced back into cocoons.
I do not want to love you anymore.
You ask me to open up to you
But would you ask a bud to bloom?
I’d grow without ceasing if my heart had the room.
You ask me to be honest with you
But would you ask a child for the truth?
I’d say all I could if my tongue knew what to do.
You ask me to try to love you
But these things I know to be true:
You do not love me and I cannot love you.
Row after row of burgundy pew and that crimson carpet like Jesus himself bled out in this church. I am biting back laughter so hard that I am afraid I may actually burst; can a person explode from keeping joy inside? My mother is giving me The Eyes and I know I will in turn receive The Lecture about how this is a sacred place and we come here to worship, not to laugh. The thing is, everyone worships in different ways. I wish I could share this joy with my mother, here in this place where love is taken so seriously. I wish our love didn’t have to be a stern obligation. And I wish I could burst out laughing, because I am happy, so happy today, but instead I am physically hurting myself by preventing my muscles from contracting into a laugh. And I get a quick head nod from my mother, as if this sacrifice provides redemption for my actions. As if laughing in church would be the reason I would end up in hell and not a warped sense of what love is.