Headaches, Malfunctions, and funny little Skeletons.

Hopelessly Devoted

*spoken word*

When I was a child my uncle used to put me on his shoulder and let me see the entire world. The hungry, the rich, the comfortable. The sky, the scrapers, the line. My aunties would let me stir every pot, lick every spoon, taste every meal. My grandmas and their moms, would show me pictures, and trinkets and clothes. They would bathe me in their love. Wrap me up so tightly, and tell me everything that I was worth. I was everything.

It was a different kind of love. The type of love that dances at church in the pew, hands clasped over their hearts, hooting and hollering, loving every minute and every second. This type of love doesn't crease shoes, always loses the parting comb and taps you on the back of the head when the hot comb is ready.

Its a different kind of love, you can't just say that it's love, it's a calling once a day, see you on the weekend, don't be telling my business to anyone kind of love.

And Maaaaaaaan I was drowning in it when I was younger of course. When everything was wrong and right at the same time.

Then the love shifted, I don't see the same people anymore, my church is so very empty. And I've lost a lot of the good people that raised me. Where I live now, love is tough to come by, it isn't always free. It's uncomfortable when talked about and grazes in the field in its spare time.

This love is rough and ragged, it's going to bed late at night. Never seeing everyone at the dinner table. A quiet house, one too many dogs, and seasoning packets. It's crying way too often, confronting hard truths and learning to forgive- not yet but we're working on it.

It's cleaning the depression room more than once a week, taking the dogs out when they cry for it. Loving football and hating your own sport. It's picking and choosing which child comes first and at what time. it's always about never having enough time, it's getting yelled at, ripped up poetry and empty promises.

This kind of love is nothing compared to what I've been used to. There's no affection, it's hallow and lonely, and trying to give that kind of love to someone else is never the right option.

But then I found you.

And "I love you" is simply not enough.

This kind of love means napping together on a Saturday afternoon. Being completely starstruck when you enter a room. This love has green eyes, with yellow parts that we still can't figure out.

This love has no boundaries. It has a hallow throb that sits in the center of my chest whenever we're apart. But fills me up whenever we're together. My love, to be starstruck no matter what happens, no matter what we do.

It's dinner, hand in hand. Turning heads wherever we go. It's neck kisses, shoulders, chest. It's running fingers through your hair.

It's asking how you slept. Wishing we'd slept together.

It's a waiting game, Twisting and turning pulling out the knots and figuring it out. It's a waiting game, but the love never goes un-missed. It's stealing glances at each other, laughing loudly and never ever feeling alone.

This kind of love has a future a lot like the love I knew in the past. It's full of laughter, dancing in the pews, tasting every dish, knowing the history. It's the sky, the line, the scrapers. It's bathing babies in love, changing the love and molding it to fit what we know it's supposed to be.

This kind of love is the only love I know that I finally deserve.