I grew up learning
romance is violence.
So when people ask “How do you love?”
I say,

Love
is a door banged shut in anger,
vocal chords rubbing together in fright,
raised voices echoing in the middle of the night
dancing from my room to yours.

Love
is red skin pinched from the thighs,
is clenched fists smacked on a table,
is furniture piled to block the way in,
is an object slammed on purpose so you know I’ll know I’m
wrong
wrong
wrong,

Love
is shrugging your hand from my shoulders,
is not texting back,
is throwing your phone against the wall,
is kicking you in your sleep,
is claw marks and bruised knuckles,
is bleeding lips and bitten tongues,
is shoving and pulling,
is a knife unsliced,
is 50 apologies not taken, 50 insults not taken back,
is f.uck yous,
is eye-daggers,
is silence,
is making them cry until they realize they are
wrong
wrong
wrong.

—Sade Andria Zabala, Romance Is Violent