To The Man Who Taught Me What Love Is Not
To The Man Who Taught Me What Love is Not
I was the plaster off of your wall when I said something you didn't like
I was the clenching of your hands as you dragged me down the school hallway
I was the monotone of your voice when you told me that you loved me
I was a Frankenstein's monster crafted by you, made of pure horror never to be abandoned.
I've built a new wall, made of stone; you will never punch through me.
I’ve grappled out of your hold; I wear the armor of barbed wire.
I’ve forgotten your voice; I will scream love when I find it more passionately than you can imagine.
I myself have burned down that laboratory.
A eulogy to childhood
A eulogy to first love, and
A eulogy to your hoodies that still sit in a box in the back of my closet.
To the man who taught me what love is not,
May you never teach a lesson again.