My boyfriend cheated on me around my birthday..and then had the audacity to wite me a poem about love. This was my response.
Love is how I felt when I was with you. Love is what I felt when I looked into your eyes. Love is what I felt when we would smoke, relax and just be together. Love isn’t when you didn’t let me talk when I was having a bad day. Love isn’t how you cut me off when I had something to say. Love was how I wanted to show you the world. Love was how I tried to make your day with the simplest things such as a text appreciating what you didn’t do for me and still made you feel like you were the king. Love is when I put myself aside for your happiness and comfort. Love was how I melted in to your eyes, and arms. Love was making passionate love to you as we kissed. Love was you pulling my hair and fucking me like a whore yet still adore me with everything. Love wasn’t when you backed off after we finished. Love wasn’t when you thought I was sensitive because I expected you to whisper sweet nothings after we had sex. Love isn’t when you ignored my emotional needs after I just gave you myself. Love isn’t when you wouldn’t want me to talk to anyone in fear of them liking me, as a friend or more. Love isn’t when you take me to ****** house so he can talk to me instead of you. Love isn’t when you overreact and have a bitch-fit when something doesn’t go your way. Love isn’t sleeping with someone else. Love isn’t when you fuck someone else in a backseat of a car. Love isn’t excusing your actions by saying it was an ”animalistic reaction”. Love isn’t kissing someone else. Love isn’t caressing someone else. Love isn’t pretending nothing happened when you fucked the one you “love”. Love isn’t playing victim to gain pity and more love. Love isn’t you apologizing and thinking its okay. Love isn’t you taking advantage of someone’s kindness. Love is what gave to you. Love is putting up with your bullshit when I didn’t want to. Love is patience. Love is being with someone because you wanted to. Love isn’t being with someone because they’re available.
Love isn’t something you can write about because you don’t know what love is.