Love?

I’m his canvas.

Covered in blue and purple,

Scars and scabs.

He loves me so hard.

Sometimes it hurts, sometimes I bleed.

But isn’t love a battlefield?

I submit to his will, because he says I love you.

Because he says I love you, I hear nothing else.

Because he says I love you I can breathe with the reassurance.

But I still bleed, I still bruise, I still cover up the wounds.

Because he says I love you.

It’s like a breath of polluted air enveloping around me.

It’s like taking a swim in a pool of tar.

I’m stuck. Cut off from everyone else.

Because he says I love you.

Healed. Alleviated. Cured?

Beautiful like a rose but piercing me like the thorns on the stem.

Snapping back into reality as he snaps my arm for a third time.

He loves me so hard.

But love is a battlefield not a boxing match.

Bruised and bloody I pull myself into the arms of the ones I severed for him.

They welcome me back as if I never left.

The vibrations of their love, true and genuine love, engulfs me.

Overwhelmed.

Healed.

Restored.

Alleviated.

Cured.

They say because I love you. And I love them too.