no thank you, love.

When I was in sixth grade,  I thought love would come in the form of a boy with blonde hair like the kid in my English class, blue eyes like the boy in history, and the height of the boy in math. This fictional boy was perfect (and he was for a while).

However, in eighth grade, love arrived in the form of pale skin covered in angry red lines and a glittering sharp metal. Love showed up in the shower and the dark closet in my room, places where no one would find us (and love stayed for a scary amount of time).

A few months later, and love changed to be a girl with long blonde hair who slapped my butt and picked me up and planted kisses on my cheeks that left lipstick marks. Love slowed danced with me at the Spring Dance while we were both dressed in long fancy dresses. But love moved on, soon planting loving kisses on another (and I returned to my secret love in the closet).

Love returned once more in the heat of summer as a woman I found on the internet. She comforted me when I was sad, and I returned the favor. Soon, our simple conversations turned flirty, and we formed and illegal kind of love. In the beginning of freshman year however, she sent that simple text we all fear, turning me into a hurricane of tears (and I stayed in that form for over a week).

No matter how much I hated love, she returned to me in a messed up girl with short red hair. She holds my hand with her slightly too big hand and gives me good hugs, but insults me every other minute. Love came to torture me into falling for her, even though her own love stayed with a sport (and I still stayed).

Love rebirthed itself as a scale, telling exactly how to achieve perfection. It cooed sweet nothings in my ear as I skipped meals, and slapped me when I let food pass through my lips. It taunted my thighs and the curve of my waist. Love was awful (and I let love control me).

Now, love is gone. It still lingers in the box of razors in my drawer, in the red dress shoved in the back of closet, in a messenger app I haven’t used in ages but still kept because I can’t forget her. Love mocks me when I see her too big hands clasped with another, laughing up at me as I weigh myself (and now I’m too scared to meet love again).

Love arrived to ruin my life and left it in ruins (and I don't know if I can put it back together).

this was inspired by When Love Arrives by Sarah Kay & Phil Kaye