(I had this boyfriend once, we were about a year and half
in—when he asked me, “Why don’t
you ever say that you love me?” This was my response:)

I’m not going to say, I love you.
Those words have no place in my vocabulary.
My Momma said, I love you, just before she tried to
sell me to a man in a bar--
I was five years old.
He was waiting there for me—
reeking of Tanqueray and lime.
With sorrel-stained fingertips from filterless Pall Malls
he touched my face—
I forgot to breathe.
I was the object of his twisted desires,
‘cos he loved me too, you know?
And my Grandad sure did love me
when I was a little girl.
He loved those dresses my Grandma used to make me
wear on Sunday—
maybe it was the tights and the ruffles. Maybe it was
the preacher that got him so excited,
‘cos he’d snatch me up and center me firmly on his
lap, pressing his boner against my bottom.
Shhh, he’d whisper, You cant tell anyone. You don’t
Want anything to happen to me, do you? Don’t you
love me?
Love?
And I’m not going to say, I love you,
‘cos that’s what my Grandma said,
after she whooped me with that
switch while I was naked in the tub—
causing my legs, arms, and back to bleed with each
swat.
I only did this ‘cos I love you! She’d say, leaving me
to shiver in the pink bubbles.
Now clean up this mess!
I’m not going to say, I love you,
because that’s what he said
for twelve years, seven months, and three days—
every morning after
while my body blossomed in violence
fields of magenta and violet,
Why’d you make me do that Babe,
you know I love you.
So, no—
No.
I absolutely cannot say, I love you
‘cos that’s what my Daddy said
with a fedora smile
right before he drove away
and I disappeared in his rear-view mirror—
I love you, Princess.
(I was in a different place when I wrote this poem. It’s an
examination of what it means for me to
say those words, I love you. And this poem navigates the
trauma I used to associate with and
attach to those words. I didn’t know how to give or receive
love, or how to trust or believe it. I
was never taught.
But it’s never too late to learn.
I learned how to forgive those who hurt me, while using I
love you as their shield. I’ve been
taught love and forgiveness by my children, my
community, and through the act of doing
this—poetry.
I love and forgive myself. I can now say I love you and
mean it.)
I love you.