Hate

We take the love we think that we deserve.
But why? They ask. Hushed tones behind closed doors.
Why does she stay? Does she not have the nerve
To leave? They ask, and condemnation pours.

They judge, but never try to understand.
Short observations tell them all they need
To judge you, judge us. Scared, I take your hand.
From this love, I don’t want to be freed.

I never thought you perfect, but you’re mine.
And I’m not scared that you will run away.
You love me sometimes, and for me that’s fine.
Despite the things that other people say.

They’re blind with hate. The thing they cannot see,
It is not you that they should hate, but me.

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