Reflection of “The Word Love”
Poem for WS 285 by Tyrell Allen
I used to write the word “love” with her index finger, exclusively.
Because she possessed the power to point in the direction of everything good to me.
She knew best.
She knew traditions and stories and renditions that crafted my destiny without my
consent.
And this was okay because I trusted she would point me in the right direction.
Until I found a compass of my own.
A tool that put so much physical distance between my desire for education and my dedication
to family.
Even though the spiritual distance never changed.
I used to spell the word “love” with his warmth.
Because he dressed me in new senses of self seemingly serene.
And I was happy to pull the letters from his dark blues eyes because I found comfort
in them.
I could see myself.
But I discovered that this vision was purely one sided because he wasn’t capable of
seeing himself in me.
Unless he was actually in me, on those nights when love and memories and passion and
pleasure all collided.
Collisions conspiring against me, sparking confusion.
Sparking clouded judgment of what I really wanted.
I tend to see the word “love” in my dreams and good intentions.
Because they’re the only things I have left to believe in.
I am unable to return to sender because my mother knows not who I am anymore.
“Calcutting” my identity to shreads.
And he was unable to experience this with me.
He has internalized all of this to the rim, and refuses to be my refuge.
I’m seeking surfaces that feel nice to me.
Gentle changes in my life that make me happy to be the person I am.
In honor of the person I’ve always been.
Love is written by accepting the way things are and growing to be okay with them.
Love is spelled with images and figures that respect and enjoy the person you are.
Love is visualized when the methods of writing and spelling the word collide
And these collisions are anything but cloudy or confusing.
I can see love again.