When Love Showed Up

I used to be scared of love, because I was never taught well.

I have seen the painful kind of love that breaks your bones, and keeps the door locked,

and it's hard for me to remember the last time my mother smiled,

or a time when my father didn't spit words covered in acid that eats at your heart.

So when "love" showed up, I used to settle for it and let it sting,

and I ignored the scars, the screaming, the fights, the other girls

because I grew up in a home where love hurt.

So when love actually showed up, I was anticipating it's departure,

and I would always wait for the night he screamed he didn't love me,

and I would always wait for the first time he got drunk and told me how he really felt,

and I didn't expect midnight conversations to be a reoccurring thing, 

and I never expected to hear, "I'm mad at you, but I still love you",

and I always waited for the door to be slammed shut on my fingers,

not a kiss on the cheek and stitches on my heart.

Let me be a reminder that love isn't supposed to hurt, 

let me be a reminder that love shouldn't scare you,

let me be a reminder that love is supposed to make you feel like the entire universe.

Wedding rings aren't meant to be brass knuckles.