Things I can't explain.

It doesnt have a name.

You say you love me.
But only in the version of me
You find acceptable.
Obedient.
Predictable.
Yours.

You love me like I'm a routine to memorise,
Not a person to learn.
You love me like I'm a house with all the doors locked,
As long as the windows show you smiling.

You say, "I never ignore you. I'm always here"
But when did presence become proof of understanding?
You gave up a world,
I never asked you to.
And that doesn't mean I'm ungrateful. Insensitive. Unappreciative.
But what does loving someone have to do with giving up your world?
You can love someone and make them your world,
Not leave everything else to make yourself believe they're your world.
Thats called creating a prison and calling it love.

You say, "Stay in your little head" like an attack.
But that little head is the only place I ever felt free.
That little head is my home.
The one that doesn't demand I change the curtains,
Change the walls,
Change me,
Just to be welcomed.

You say you understand,
But you never will.
To you love means closeness,
To me love means home and freedom,
And not a place where my wings are too big,
My little head is too loud,
My space is me being unloving.

I tried.
God I tried to meet you where you wanted me.
To fold myself smaller,
To tone my voices down,
To be who you needed,
But it felt like wearing someone else's skin.
Itchy. Tight. Wrong.
And when I tried to be me,
We fought.
And somehow I was always the one to shrink.

You say, "I give you flowers, love, good mornings"
But those are not apologies for misunderstanding me.
Those are not currencies of my silence.

You want me all to yourself.
But what about the parts of me that belong to no one?
The parts that are mine,
That I don't want to explain,
That I don't want to give away,
Not even to God.
Not even to you.

I don't want a love
Where boundary becomes betrayal.
I don't want a love
Where I must dim to fit.
I don't want a love
Where I must shut up to feel safe.

You think I'm wrong and selfish,
For wanting more.
For wanting individuality.
For wanting privacy.
But I was born with these wings
And every time I try to cut them for you,
They grow back.
Bleeding.
Because I wasn't made for staying in between the walls of someone's life,
I wasn't made for shackles disguised as love.
I wasn't made for hands that only know how to hold what they can control.

So no
You don't love me.
You love the version of me
That obeys.
That bends.
That shrinks.

And maybe the reason it hurts so much is
Love shouldn't feel like losing yourself.
Piece by piece.
To keep someone whole.