I am no writer
All I have is my word
All I’ve ever longed for is words that keep
Which brings us to the problem of love—
“My word!”
—then I learned that it’s just not true.
You are my keeper
For all my workshopping
You are the guardian of me
My word is yours to foil and freight
As from the beginning
And in the end I am weightless
Because you bring lightness to me
“What are you driving at? Weren’t we here for a reason?”
History, harm, art, pain, grief, power, privilege, war
War
“Why do you dance so?”
Because it hurts. You already know, so why do you ask? Why rub it in?
“I am just angry. Helpless. Useless, again. Love is just a word.”
Love is a friend who grieves with you.
Love is a friend who just knows.
Love is a friend who…
“But war.”
Yes. Love is a friend who listens.
Love is a friend who chooses to feel with you.
“BUT WAR DEATH VIOLENCE WRATH KILLING”
Yes. Love is a friend who chooses to hurt with you (mic check, do you hear me?).
Love is a friend who doesn’t ask you to know when you don’t.
Love is a friend who knows when it’s better not to know.
Love is a friend—
"But I am…”
I know.
“I am that death, I am that war, I am that anger, I am that grief, I am tha—
Yes. Love is a friend who’s made mistakes.
“My words are so empty.”
To and for who?
“Whom* ;)”
Not now mom!
Love is a friend who tells you what you need to hear.
Even when you don’t want to.
Because I am the maker of the grammar nazi.
Because Love is a friend, so you capitalize her name.
Because Love is an action not a feeling.
Because Love is pro noun not a verb.
Because Love is a feeling and a force and a—
What is love when there’s a god damned war?
What is love when this is not new?
What is love when it takes me this long to feel?
What is love when I am still numb?
What is love when—
“Who do you mean?”
Love is a friend who is with me.
Not trying to make a point.
Because the point is contact.
Because the point is devastatingly mundane and arcane.
Because the point is the point is the point
Because I am tired of living on and off the shelf
Because I am not an object and a bullet makes me one
Because I am not an object and a bullet point makes me one
Because I am more alive when I am allowed out of my body, and in
Because, my God, aren’t I more than this?
“Take a deep breath for me,”
Love is a friend who.