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.