Liars

I once dated a boy
who smelled like angst
and rebellion.
He called me names
and told me things he wanted to do
to me.
That was where it started.
Then I dated a boy who looked like his very
being
was composed
of hair products and different scented body soaps
that were made to give you
things you lacked--
he wore the essence of
"confidence".
He kissed me
only when i took off my clothes.
He called me beautiful
under the covers.
When I decided
I deserved better,
I crawled back to the boy
with the sharp tongue.
And I
apologized
over and over.
Then I left him for a boy
all marked up with ink
and blood.
With a mind
full of
demons.
And a heart covered in dust.
He often tasted of whiskey
and his voice became sour
and loud.
He squeezed my hand
too hard
when he was angry.
I loved him.
I was taught
that
love is supposed to be painful.
"You're bleeding
because he cares about you".
I didn't argue.
If enough people repeat something
it becomes the truth.
But not enough people
tell the truth
when you actually
ask for it.
Sometimes lying is necessary,
but most secrets are trivial.
Why didn't anyone tell me
about you when I asked
if it was possible?
That love didn't have to hurt.
How can you keep something like that
a secret?
How could someone lie about
the look you give me
every time I tell you
I want to die?
No one told me
about the boy with eyes filled with
stardust
and a voice to end all wars.
No one reassured me
that there would be a boy who would
hold me as if I were
made of glass.
Who smiled like he just discovered
the secret to life
every time
he leaned in
for a kiss.
Who took his time
to breathe
and spoke softly and slowly
so I understood.
A boy who whispered in bed when he says
"I love you",
but proclaims it loudly in public.
Why could no one tell me
someone like you
could exist?
Maybe it was because
your love
doesn't hurt me.
And they didn't want
to look like
liars.