I don't believe in love.
Because love, to me,
Looks like screaming.
I believe in the soft thump
Of a hard-cover book thrown at my head.
I believe in the gentleness of your hand
As it flies across my face.
I believe in the value of words
That dripped like poison into my heart.
My blood is ***** because
You are in it.
So I don't believe in family, either.

But like a carpenter with a block of wood
A sculptor with a lump of clay
Here I am, with my craft, deciding -
I will make a love I can believe in.
With touch, with words, with a family -
And it will be entirely separate -
Entirely complete (like me)
Without you.