​Our Kind of Love | Poetry


Those who say our kind of love

is wrong

have not met you and me.
It happened quickly, a long night

and twenty-four hours

to seal our fates.
They don’t know how I break;

how the inflection in your voice

is the only rhythm my heart understands.
They’ve not even heard your voice!

How can they judge so easily, Ladi,

when they’ve not heard the firmness
when you said that night my

world was crumbling, ‘Don’t cry’

and I wiped my eyes with my palm?
Yes, I cried. Perhaps it would shock them

I cried for you, and for me

I cried for everything. 
They ought to see me now

writing this poem. 
Is it too early to want a lifetime with you? 


But the thought crosses my mind every day.
Perhaps a miracle will happen and 

we’ll show them what love is,

rub it in their faces like mud,
shove it down their throats

Until they choke on their words,

how two boys can be happy together,
and free as when the breeze

lifts a piece of paper from the earth

and guides it through thin air.
And this what I’ve been trying to say,

because if they say I can’t love you

then they’ve not learnt about love


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