Sometimes love is a lie.
It is the dinner table of an enchanted feast
Little did you know that the roast is poisoned.

When I say poison
I mean they casted a spell.
A spell that gives them power over what you do and say.

Under this spell
you do not stand up for yourself.
You let them mold you as if you are made of sand. Even though you know they will stomp on you. Form you flat. Nonexistent.

Is that the price of unconditional love?
Thinking outside of the box (A.K.A breaking the spell) gets you put into a box, duct taped, Saran wrapped, zip tied, and shoved under the bed when love has company.

Is that the result of being an embarrassment?
When I say embarrassment, I instantly think of my divorce. How I was ripped apart from the inside out only leaving my organs bruised and exposed. Well love came around the corner with a scalpel.

Is that the expense of being a disappointment?
When I say disappointment, I see the screenshots I was sending to my friends as love told me that I hate myself because I’m gay. Love never took into consideration that it was my first happy and healthy relationship.

I began to grow out of my shoes again.
Learned to ask the right questions.
Like, how can love harbor so much hate for my ability to open my heart to the unorthodox?

My ability to run from the lies of love, and find the purest form in myself.
I am the H2O that saved Bobby Bushay.
I am sprouting from the inside.
And everyone can see it, except love.