Ask Me Why

People always thump their books,
Preach to me what’s right and wrong,
They stand on pulpits, point their fingers,
As if love is something to be judged,
As if my life is a lesson to teach,
A debate for them to settle.

But why do I need to justify
The love that beats within my chest?
Why must I plead, or argue, or prove
That I deserve the right to be
Just as anyone else—
To live, to love, to build a home?

Even those who say they mean well,
Who claim their hearts are simply misguided,
Expect me to be brave, to educate,
To answer their questions with patience,
To let them “discuss” the nature of my love—
As if it’s a topic for debate,
As if my heart is a theory to be tested.

It is dehumanizing,
To lay bare my love, my life,
To let others dissect the way we kiss,
The way we hold hands,
As if every touch, every smile,
Is something that needs explanation.

They want to put us under the microscope,
Analyze our moments like specimens,
Or discuss us like philosophical hypotheticals—
To decide if we belong, if we fit,
In their narrow view of love and life,
While we’re just trying to live,
To be, to love, to breathe without fear.

I have a wife. I love her, it's simple, it's true.
I want to live my life with her,
Raise children, grow old together,
To share laughter in sunlit kitchens,
And comfort each other when the nights grow long.

I would say, if you want to understand my love,
Ask me why I fall for her blue eyes—
Why their depths are oceans that pull me in,
Why I feel safe when I hold her hand,
And her heartbeat feels like coming home.

Ask me why I listen for her soft-spoken words,
Why home-cooked meals taste like warmth, like care,
Why each bite is a reminder
That love is in the small things—
The time she takes to nourish my soul.

Ask me why I love the sweet scent of her perfume,
How it lingers like a promise in the air,
A fragrance that fills every room with comfort,
Like flowers blooming after rain,
And when she leans close,
I feel the world soften at the edges.

Ask me why I love the way her fingers
Slip through my hair, gentle and slow,
As if untangling every thought that weighs me down.
How the sensation of her touch
Soothes the chaos inside,
Reminds me that love can be tender,
Love can heal.

Ask me why I love her lips,
The way they taste of something simple and sweet—
A hint of fruit, a trace of laughter,
The kind of sweetness that doesn't fade,
That lingers after a kiss like a promise,
Like sunlight resting on the skin.

Ask me why I love how she picks me up when I fall,
How she never hesitates, never falters,
And how her hands pull me from the depths—
Steady, unfaltering, with a smile that says
She believes in me even when I don’t.

Ask me why I love how she makes me my best,
How she sees the light within me,
Even when I feel like darkness surrounds,
How her faith in me inspires,
Turns doubt into something distant,
Something I can leave behind.

Ask me why I love how she holds me when I cry,
When the tears fall and the weight is too much,
And she wraps her arms around me,
As if to shield me from every storm,
Whispering words that tell me it’s okay—
To feel, to break, to need.
She’s there, always, and that’s enough.

These are the reasons I fall,
Again and again, deeper each day,
For the woman who is my light,
My refuge, my joy,
The one who loves in every small way,
In every unspoken moment,
Without needing words to prove.
This is my love—simple, real,
And worth every breath.

If I had married a man,
No one would question my joy,
No one would ask me to validate
The mornings spent tangled in warmth,
Or the dreams we build brick by brick.
Straight couples don’t need to do that—
They simply get to live,
Their love taken as given, as truth.

That’s what I want to talk about—
Not the arguments, not the laws, not the sin.
I want to talk about love
The way anyone does, without fear,
Without the heavy burden of defense.
I want to tell you how her smile
Feels like sunlight breaking through the storm,
How her voice is the melody that calms my fears.

I want to share our joy, our struggles,
Our story, just as anyone would,
Without having to argue
That our love is real, that I am real,
That I am not less, not broken, not wrong
Because my heart chose her.

I want to speak of love as love—
Unburdened, pure, and true,
The way it beats within my chest,
Without needing to convince the world
That this love, my love, is enough.
Because it is. And it always will be.