Sunday 4 November 2012

THE THING ABOUT LOVE


Sometimes
When words land heavyenough to bruise,
And cause gashes deep enough to peer into the very depths of your soul-
It’s         because           it hurts!
Infuriates
Boils blood crimson red
Clots it black
And then boils it red all over again
To watch a loved one choose to walk off a bridge in the name of freedom
And be powerless to hold them back.

It pains
And it is not a feeling that demands rewind often or at all
There is nothing worse than fighting to save a life
That disregards its own true form in a mirror
And instead reflects an imaginary construct
In the body of which blindness, self-loathing and lack of any perspective
Feel at home

It hurts
To watch a loved one vacillate
Between regression
And remaining
In the pit of their despair
Knowing that the world waits- there at their finger tips
Daring them to clutch and hold on to something greater
But you stay down
You choose to stay down
And somehow delude yourself into thinking you are still fighting

It hurts
To fold back screams
Into neatly packaged phrases
Designed to sink sense into you and your manmade pit
Knowing these words entwined with love and all the wisdom I have
Three pronged and strong as they are
May still not suffice to halt your jump or stop your fall

So when my words cut
Leave scars deep enough to sow seeds of thought
Which yield fruition in the questions
Why do you hate me so much
Why can’t you just let me go
What was all that talk of love in moments not so long ago

Then
I‘ll send a whisper through the wind to tell you
Hate is the brother of love
Often mistaken one for another
But distinguished by context
And clarified by intention
Hate has no home here

But if words are all the armoury I have
To cause dents deep enough to jolt you into right thinking
Fling you against multiple mirrors till your self constructed image cracks
And you finally see your true self
Stop you in your tracks before you walk too far off the ledge

If words are all the armoury that I have
Then I will bruise, cut, gash and dent you
with words coming from a place of love
That refuses to comfort foolishness at the risk of losing you forever

The thing about love is,                     sometimes
You may hate me for it
But sometimes, I will hurt you to save you
Because that’s the kind of risk real love will take
When the prize is worthy like you are to me.




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