I've never felt so at home,
as I did the day I met her.
For once I couldn't hear
the bickering of voices in my head,
and that's how I knew.
Home is wherever your demons
go mute, and the feeling of
her palm on mine is
a better silencer than
antidepressants ever were.

She makes me feel whole,
like the only reason my heart
is aching is because I
cannot possibly love her more.

She smiles at me like
there might actually be
something there to smile about.

When I am with her,
I forget that society did not
teach me to love this way.
Did not teach me that
sometimes love arrives
in a package tied with a pink bow.

And I could change all the pronouns
in my love poems to him,
if it would make others
more comfortable,
but it wouldn't change the truth.

The truth is that nothing
has ever came easy in life,
except for loving her.