Love isn’t found
It is built.
It changes form and shape
It breathes and grows.
It accommodates our tired bodies
And restful sighs
Our nervous laughter
And fierce kindness.
It is full of feeling, but thoughtful.
And just like Rome
Love isn’t built in a day.
Brick by brick we lay our foundation
Anticipate earthquakes, storms and tsunamis
But chances are, what is debilitating isn’t an unforeseen disaster
But the silent, chronic neglect of its foundation
Of not placing love at the centre.
Love isn’t found
It is built.
It exists in noticing quiet moments
In being seen and feeling heard.
It feels like home
With a fireplace alive enough to keep us warm
And not set our home ablaze.
It is the kind of work that isn’t draining
But what we live for.
And love that lives on
Is built together.
It’s funny how benign some acts of ignorance feel
When there is love at the centre.
And how harmful they are
When there isn’t.
It is not intention but love
Free, open, vulnerable love
Without defences
Vast and senseless
Honest and carefree
That makes room for difficult conversations.
When love is at the centre of a relationship
It is strong enough to contain all the complexities of the world
Gently dancing barefoot in the woods
Following the sunshine
After a rough night
Trusting that holding hands, we can make it.
My poetry about oppression feels angry
Us vs them
Me vs you
But truly
I see more than the colour of your skin
I see you.
I see how when you were hurt, you became fearful of skin
Instead of the person wearing it.
I am not afraid of your skin
I am afraid of you.
And I am not angry
Just disappointed
That you can’t see me too.
Dear White Folx,
You might argue that you are reduced to your whiteness too
Your identity, your stories, your struggle ‘erased’
Your depth and kindness unseen
Your courage unacknowledged
Your intentions invalidated.
What a privilege
To be surprised
When that happens.