To choose love was back up plan A.
Because love always saves the day, plays the hero and coats the dress in diamonds and pearls.
What can be easier than choosing love?
When boxed days rotate and high winds dissipate frantically built lodgings, I’ll call on love to rebuild.
When thorns creep up flesh and bones to choke the vein that feeds me, I’ll swallow love. Juicy, revitalising love. I’ll be replenished in an instant.
It was supposed to be that easy.
Love is warm and fuzzy and pleasurable and light.
Choose Love they said and all is coming. So, I chose love and yes, certainly all did come
And indeed, the eyes of change sneered upon routine, mocking until she got her way.
But to really choose love, all-out-no-going-back-love was the fucking hardest thing I’ve done and I cursed, not the days I’ve loved but the lifetime I haven’t.
I cried to the moon, to the stars, to any God who’ll listen ‘please make it stop’, but my choice, my choosing, what can anybody do?
Because choosing love shatters. Memories splinter and slice up your eyes, sharp tears are going to sting like nothing you’ve ever felt.
Fill up your hands with soil and bile and the rotten eggs you tread on, smear your face with shame, perversions and spiteful words you’ve laden upon others. You have to see the dirt, to taste it, to smell it. You’re gonna bond with festering bacteria that lives in disrupted guts and shit.
Because choosing love churns shit and it’s messy. Don’t be precious because shit can stain.
Choosing love? Don’t be precious about anything.
Love rips up the pleasantries and vomits on obligation. Nice? Forget it
Because choosing love doesn’t carry you, or soften the strike with feathered blades, it dissects you; it burns from you tattooed ideals and dented understandings
Choose love and you choose transparency as love isn’t blind. Love doesn’t play the game. Love isolates you from disillusioned masses and fake branding.
Choosing love, unconditional and universe-creating love invites old habits and disgusting manners back to the table.
Bring it ALL to the table, says love. There’s room.
There’s room for the dirt and the tears and the mess and the pain. There’s room for mistakes and mishaps and misunderstandings and misery. There’s room for the shame and perversions, the wrongs and the rights.
Choose love and you can’t deny hate
Choose love and you won’t shun pain
Choose love and you see there’s no distinction between the two.