Love is not easy.
It isn’t about holding hands
while you take a stroll at the park.
You get deceived,
it stabs you in the back.
It isn’t about going to the movies
and feeding each other popcorn.
When you think you’re safe,
it tears at your skin.
It isn’t about gifts
every week, or every month.
It punctures a hole in you,
watching your blood flow.
It isn’t about the endearment
exchanged in a soft couch.
It kicks hard at your soul
while you’re asleep.
There is a lot that goes on
it robs you off air to breathe.
It’s about saving each other;
being real and tiredly raw.
Love is hard.
If it wasn’t,
it would mean nothing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem