I will love you and make it my own. i will love you and make it my own.
i will not reflect the yearning I had at 13 for my parents to hear my trembling whisper. i will not raise my voice to say that this is love.
because my hands created it— bare. And they tore it to shreds, dissected it just to make sure my mother wasn't beneath this feeling of comfort.
just in case, this time, i could develop some sort of empathy for a woman who cannot hear an artist's voice.
and it isn't my responsibility to love you. but i will—oh, i will. and i will be harsh.
it will be overbearing because i want someone to suffocate me with love.
and it will be painful because i still feel the fingers wrapped around my throat when i said those words for the first time.
but i will love you anyway, and it will be gut-wrenching. it will be torture that you will not understand. but you will try to god, you will try to.
because you love me with something i could never seem to imitate. and i will make some half-*** excuse like:
it is not in my blood.
but i will love you because i will make this myself. and i am strong. i can do this.