Foreword / Introduction
I could try to deny that there is a story behind this poem, but anyone who has been reading my blog for a while knows by now that I write out of emotion, usually because something has happened. In this case, it’s because of an adult guy in a video game who gave me the worst possible advice: hop from girl to girl, be a “player,” or, to put it bluntly, see girls as objects instead of the valuable human beings they are.
I don’t usually bring up religion, since it’s a difficult subject for me, but I am still Christian, and one very important statement in the Bible is that we were made in the image of God. Even beyond my own values, that truth stops me from ever objectifying girls and women. In fact, if anything, it’s why I’d rather avoid adding to their difficulties. There are many things girls and women go through that I could never fully understand or feel how painful they are, such as periods and pregnancy.
Even if these values would happen to be only mine, I don’t care. Girls and women don’t deserve to be used and hurt, not even by the misogynistic words of men.
Quick note: This poem includes quotes from 1 Corinthians 13 in the Christian Bible.
Poem: What They Call Love [observational free verse]
I watch them move from girl to girl,
like changing shirts they do not keep.
They take the soft parts, leave the rest
and call it love, when it is not.
Love is patient, love is kind,
it does not take, it gives.
I see the way they smile wide,
then turn cold when the night ends.
She waits for messages that never come.
She checks her phone until the screen goes dark.
Love does not envy, does not boast,
it does not leave her waiting.
They speak in soft words at the start,
then vanish when things get too real.
She cries on bathroom floors alone
while they are already somewhere new.
Love is not proud, it is not rude,
it does not seek its own way.
I heard one laugh about her body,
then call her crazy when she cried.
He told his friends she was too much,
then found another one by morning.
Love is not irritable or resentful,
it does not rejoice in wrongdoing.
They treat them like things to collect,
like stickers in a book they discard.
She is not a thing, she is a person,
she has a heart that breaks and bleeds.
Love bears all things, believes all things,
it endures all things, hopes all things.
I see her at the bus stop crying,
her mascara running down her face.
He said forever, meant two weeks.
Now he holds another hand in public.
Love never ends, it never fails,
it does not break what it has built.
They call it playing, call it fun,
but she is not a game to win.
She is someone’s daughter, someone’s sister,
she is made of flesh, and bone, and soul.
Love does not dishonour, does not use,
it honours, protects, it stays.
I watch them brag about the numbers,
like trophies on a shelf they count.
Each name a notch upon their belt,
each heart a story they tore up.
Love keeps no record of wrongs,
it does not count, it does not score.
She believed the promises he made,
she gave him pieces of her trust,
he took them all and gave back nothing,
just silence and a blocked number.
Love hopes all things, endures all things,
it does not leave her in the dark.
They say boys will be boys, they say
it is just how things are, it is nature,
but that is a lie they tell themselves
to sleep at night without the guilt.
Love does not excuse, it does not harm,
it chooses kindness every time.
I have seen her kneel beside her bed,
whispering prayers into her pillow,
asking why she was not enough,
asking why he could not stay.
Love is patient with the broken,
it binds the wounds, it does not make them.
They treat respect like something optional,
like manners are for other people,
but she deserves the same respect
that any human being deserves.
Love honours the other, always honours,
it never treats her like she is less.
I watch them swipe through faces now,
like ordering food, like picking clothes.
She is not an option on a screen,
she is a world inside a person.
Love is not self-seeking, not convenient,
it stays when it is easier to leave.
They call it weakness to be gentle,
they call it soft to treat her well,
but cruelty is the weaker thing,
it takes no strength to break a heart.
Love is strong enough to be gentle,
it is not afraid to be kind.
She builds her walls up brick by brick
after each one leaves without a word.
She stops believing in the words,
she stops believing in the staying.
Love believes all things, hopes all things,
it does not make her build those walls.
I want to tell her it is not her fault,
I want to tell her she is not broken,
I want to tell her he is the one
who failed to love the way love loves.
Love does not blame, it does not shame,
it lifts the fallen, it restores.
They will answer for every tear.
They will answer for every lie.
They will answer for every heart
they treated like it meant nothing.
Love does not delight in evil,
it rejoices with the truth.
Love is patient, love is kind,
it does not envy, does not boast,
it is not proud, it is not rude,
it is not self-seeking, not easily angered,
it keeps no record of wrongs.
Love never fails, it never ends.
