My love is a dead animal carcass.
Its lifeless flesh is ripped and torn by sharp teeth. The chewed up pieces of dead life embark through a breathing and lively body only to be digested away. Its nutrition is stolen and thrown out into a whirlpool named toilet.
My love is a roll of toilet paper.
I serve a purpose no one else wants to provide. Excretions no longer wanted are cast off on me. Travelers from the nose, ears, and backside glue themselves on me, persecuting me with their stench and gunk. On a cylinder I hang, helpless, watching the impending suffering coming but with no escape. Movement is only allowed when a hand spins me around and around, ripping off pieces of me daily. After an agonizing life cycle I eventually disintegrate into nothingness.
My love is a piece of gum.
Exuberant and solid until it is surrounded by a warm and wet mouth. Jaws of pain gnaw and grind into it. Tongue slithers around taking the entire flavor away. If lucky, I get spit out onto the hard and hot concrete, only to turn black from the scorching sun. While lying there helpless, looking at the movements of life and yet not able to join, I may be stepped on painfully. This of course would take me on a new voyage under a shoe of apathy. Chances are that I would be scrapped off by a pointed stick or rubbed against annoyed grass strands.
The worst case scenario however, would be, to be swallowed whole by the careless mouth. Once inside, years of battle would ensue, constant torture by an army of stomach acid, a long and painful journey through smell and slime. Only to be discarded, tattered, injured, and emotionally ruined.
My love is an aborted fetus.
Had a chance to live a fulfilling life but was taken away from me. In my warmth I laid in joy, until a pill named death introduced himself to me. What followed was deplorable and wicked. Prongs evicted me from my home, my sanctuary, one that I would never see again. Tears of regret from my host poured down and moans of guilt permeated throughout the room. My love is an aborted fetus.
My love was a lot of things. Since my discovery of romantic love at age fifteen, my love has grown drastically. For all the wrong reasons, I put my heart into the hands of others; I allowed them to control my love without knowing it. I was chewed up, used, and spit out. I had the best of times but my joy was sucked out and replaced with jealousy and anger.
Love was an uncharted territory, a volatile thing I had no control of. After years of self discovery and ridding my emotions of unhealthy baggage, understanding was founded. My love in relationships was disposable, conditional, and unhappy. They were filled with guilt and regret. However I discovered what love really was. An epiphany hit, love was what I made it; love never had to be painful again. I recognized that my heart was not to give, but to share; I was to control it, no one else.
Now, my love is a river.
I flow constantly and freely. I never end, I’m continually moving through the skins of nature. Rocks, boulders, and plastic bags try to impede my flow, but I just go around. Dams are my biggest adversary, but I always find new routes to discover. I am emergent, I flow because I choose to flow, no one tells me where or how to go. I can pour, flood, stream, or drift depending how I feel. I am limitless and unbound, I am love.
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