It irks me,
that any love that is not straight, white, and cisgender is automatically labelled as a “statement.”
As if it is temporary, fleeting, or good for nothing but shock-value.

Our love is not a statement, but a story.
A very beautiful one at that, and
there is no one else I’d rather be writing it with.

I used to despise love poems.
I could never write a good one, or a truthful one, and
it’s all because I never had the right muse. Not until now.
I have never known true love until now.

Thank you for being safe.
For making our love a shelter; a home.

You believed in “us” before I even knew I liked girls, and
you picked up my pieces every time a gay boy broke my heart, and
now, here we are. Together.
It only makes sense that you would become my glue.

Tonight, as I watched your Disney princess eyes blink, and crinkle, and glow,
my heart swelled with pride.
You are mine. All mine.

You’re the only person I will lose sleep for, as well as my reason for waking up.
You are the warmth in my heart, and the thrill of an ice cold snow day.
You are my everything.
It took five years, but now, we belong to each other.

I don’t care what any church has to say about our love.
It is real, and true, and pure.
God is everywhere when I’m with you.

My statement on love, is that it is a story worth writing.