Wrong, right?

Children learn to love every day of their lives.

The little girl learns to love every day of her life.

When her parents argue and scream, nearly louder than the fireworks on the Fourth of July, 

but the colors in the sky can't compare to the ones on the mother's black eye,

she learns to love.

When she takes a college visit to the city for the weekend, staying in a dorm room with her cousin,

and her cousin's boyfriend uses his words like nails on a chalkboard and the chalkboard is her heart,

she learns to love.

When the children see that gifts cover up scars, sweet words mask the ache,

when children watch make-up cover wounds, hands brush off dignity,

when children watch the violence and anger smooth into intense forgiveness,

when children learn to love, they love back.

When children learn that kind of love, they love that kind of love back.

When little boys pull pigtails, when teenagers let their lust take what wasn't given,

when young girls learn to give, and give, and give, and give,

they're just showing love, right?

It's because they love, right?

But the kind of love the world can advertise varies so strongly.

Love is love, right?

That's what they keep telling me.

Love can't be wrong, right?

Wrong. Right.

But I've seen a love I'd much rather have.

When mothers smooth away their daughter's tears, scaring fear out of young hearts,

breaking the heart of heartache, the fiercely protective kind of love.

The love that wants to destroy all threats, but sometimes lets them pass 

because mama won't be here forever, and ever is moving fast.

When my mother packs up the boxes and shoves them in the garage.

She whispers words; they echo in my soul; I take a box out to the garage,

still hearing it: "You are always strong enough to do what is right."

Right? Wrong and right.

Two wrongs don't make a right. She told me that once or twice.

So what's wrong? What's right?

My mother listens to stronger songs now. She listens to Pat Benitar.

She swallows the Jagged Little Pill that Alanis Morrisette advertises.

She tells me - she tells me what's wrong, what's right.

I listen. 

Wrong or right.

I learn what it means to love.