Quietly Screaming: A Poem For Love
Love has become lost in a word
between some air and ink.
Love has become convoluted in industry
between greeting cards and therapy.
We define love
and, in doing so, limit it.
We control love
in an attempt to squeeze an ounce of safety from it.
We run after love
and run from it.
We turn it into cliches
diminishing its powerful grace.
We spend our time, money, and energy
collectively trying to understand it.
And in the midst of all of the chaos is love.
Love has been dictated by a chemical response.
It’s become limited to blood relations and the chosen few.
And within there love hides
revealing itself on marked calendars and over burnt candles.
We’ve cliched love at first sight.
We’ve defined it naive.
And yet maybe it’s a truth deserved only to the open-hearted.
Because to be open-hearted does not mean to be naive
or to be fragile
or to be weak.
To be open-hearted means to have trust.
In who we really are.
It means that I know a knowing that does not come from my mind.
It means I know a knowing that comes from deep in my chest,
deep in my heart,
deep in my being.
I know a knowing that IS Me.
Me with a capital M.
And this Me explodes with love because it IS love.
And when my heart is open the only real truth I know is that I am love
and I am one.
And if I am one than so are you.
And so is she.
And so is he.
And if we are one,
then we are love.
And we all are.
But love has become cliche.
Its sacredness is smothered under an embroidered love quote pillow on your grandmother’s couch.
Love for your neighbor rarely exists because you don’t know your neighbor.
Love for yourself only manifests for the rare few who dig through all the murk to get down to the big bad truth.
Even love for your lover exists within the mundane package you’ve wrapped it in.