bell hooks taught us love is
an act not a feeling.
Then why does loving me
feel like an act of sacrifice.
You tell me that you love me.
But, do you like me?
or am I just about bearable?
I see the tremble in your finger,
when you hand me the teacup
Is that fear?
or politeness,
perhaps, of politeness.
I notice the quiver of your lips,
when I mention his name,
Is this envy?
or the only reminder that I feel.
Time wears us all down.
Love does it quicker.
hooks no longer speaks in my ear
in the same register.
Even faith fatigues
when it’s asked to explain too much.
I hear the pauses when they land,
heavier than the percussive palpitations.
I listened so hard for meaning
I forgot to ask for certainty.
Are you saying?
Are you staying?
Or is this the moment
when two nebulous galaxies
finally stretch apart:
the night sky littered with broken stars,
our last fire burning itself out.
Jan 17
Jan 17, 2026 at 10:28 PM UTC
bell hooks taught us love is
an act not a feeling.
Then why does loving me
feel like an act of sacrifice.
You tell me that you love me.
But, do you like me?
or am I just about bearable?
I see the tremble in your finger,
when you hand me the teacup
Is that fear?
or politeness,
perhaps, of politeness.
I notice the quiver of your lips,
when I mention his name,
Is this envy?
or the only reminder that I feel.
Time wears us all down.
Love does it quicker.
hooks no longer speaks in my ear
in the same register.
Even faith fatigues
when it’s asked to explain too much.
I hear the pauses when they land,
heavier than the percussive palpitations.
I listened so hard for meaning
I forgot to ask for certainty.
Are you saying?
Are you staying?
Or is this the moment
when two nebulous galaxies
finally stretch apart:
the night sky littered with broken stars,
our last fire burning itself out.
This poem sits with the tension between love as a declared value and love as a lived experience. It asks what remains when care becomes endurance, and politeness replaces presence.
