love is not

love is not
love is not drunken
it does not make false promises
or angry accusations
love does not scream or curse
it does not hide cases of beer bottles
or need bong hits to be tolerated
love is not stumbling out of a pickup truck
with an empty fifth of jack
or throwing a telephone
love is not watching porn
it does not require incognito browsing
or clearing the user history
love is not waking her up to pick a fight
it is not storming out in the night
or having to read minds
love is not asking what she likes
and then never doing it
or making her pay for time
love is not punishing her for imagined insults
trying to break her with
fear and uncertainty
love is not knocking crumbs
under the counter
or pretending not to smell stinking garbage
love is not a gun at her back
it is not death threats
or slamming a dog to the sidewalk
love is not nasty notes and dirty socks
stuffed through her car window
cracked to led out the August heat
love is not ignoring her friendly text
refusing to call
or to let her make a call
love is not teasing her when she needs help
or rubbing salt in her wounds
love is not wounding her
it is not hurtful or cruel
or spiteful

I haven’t yet figured out just what love is, still working on that.  But there are a whole lot of things it certainly isn’t.  This poem pulls bits from a few relationships.  For some reason none of them worked out.  Go figure.  😉

About m

My ego wants to think I'm a writer but my heart knows I'm just another one of God's Kids who sometimes has words to say. 2 human kids and 3 feline kids call me Mom. Or Mooooooom. Or mewom, depending which you ask. I'm kinda-sorta busy being a student again; this time I signed myself up for a bizarre torture known as Graduate School. Theoretically in 4ish years I'll have earned some more nice letters to put with my name. Let's face it, I'm addicted to learning and probably need rehab to restore me to sanity and remove the obsession to read books. I don't remember what free time is but I think I like to spend it sleeping or playing in the mud on a river bank.
This entry was posted in abuse, boyfriend, creative writing, domestic violence, fear, poem, poetry, recovery, the ex and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to love is not

  1. blossom717 says:

    I love this! Thank you for sharing. I have yet to figure out what love is either, but I’ve experienced most of the above and that’s definitely not it! 🙂


  2. Pingback: Love is Not | stories of survival

  3. Pingback: The Season of Non-Violence, Day 51 | stories of survival

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