Love is not the way your father slams doors,
or the way your mother stays locked behind them at night.
Love is not the way your brother loses his temper,
or the alcohol disintegrating your grandfather's brain.
Despite what you have been raised to believe,
love is not waking up alone on Christmas morning,
or the hand that hit you wiping away your tears.
Love is not the screams of rage on Saturday night
and the singing of hymns on Sunday morning.
Love is not leaving a light on for someone who’s never coming home,
and love is not the empty trust fund with your name written on it.
Love is not the pain you grew up in.
Love is not the pain you grew up in.