LOVE TONIC : RED❤️♥️😭😭
He came in a suit of sugar, halo polished, grin precise
a velvet voice, a velvet vice.
He trained my heart to answer like a bell, then rewired the ring;
He fed me compliments like candy, called it caring, called it king.
I drank the tonic toxic: a poisonous tonic, neat and sweet,
Red as blood, dripping from my nose from his caring hit
it fizzed in my chest, promised cure, called my fear retreat.
He said, “love is blind,” so I blinked slow and believed the line
I was too blind to see that “blind” was his design.
At first it rhymed with rescue: rescue, refuge, home,
I wrote my name across his map and let his map become my own.
Remember Ruth and Naomi ‘Your people;my people....’
He learned my quiet, counted cracks, made maps of what I hide,
then used my compass to reroute me until I lost my stride.
“Why you quiet?” He would whisper, then correct me when I spoke;
“Can’t take a joke?” He’d gasp, and wear concern like smoke.
It sounded like protection sharp, shaped like a pet name
but protection turned possession; possession wore his fame.
I traded days for apologies, sunsets for small sad smiles,
I traded whole Sundays for his leftover guiles.
I folded my edges, tucked my truths in tighter seams,
because the mirror said I fit his story better than my dreams.
He loved my hunger then scolded me for wanting bread,
He cherished my loud then warned me not to wake the dead.
He called it devotion when he clipped the wings I grew;
He called it passion when the passion only flew from me to you.
I stitched my silence into armor, I wore it like a crown,
apologizing for thunder when he taught me to bow down.
“Love is blind,” he hummed and I let blindness be my shame,
I was too blind to see his kindness always came with claim.
But blindness isn’t noble when it’s chosen like a cloak;
it’s a bargain signed in ink, a promise choked, a joke.
I tasted the last sip and felt the bitter spread
toxic is a tonic that baptizes the living dead.
So I spat it on the floor, let the glass hit light and ring,
and for the first time since his lullaby, I learned to sing.
I blinked hard until my vision stopped making excuses;
I found my voice again in broken rhyme, in smaller bruises.
He told me love is blind; I say love learns to see.
I was too blind to see yes but blindness wasn’t me.
I kept the lesson, not the leash: I kept my name, my time.
I walked out of his chorus and back into my rhyme.
Toxic was his tonic bitter, bound, ironic in its gloss
I left before the sweetness finished teaching me to loss.
Now when someone says, “love is blind,” I answer from the light:
love can be kind, and if it’s right it lets you keep your sight.
Toxic: A Tonic
He came in a suit of sugar, halo polished, grin precise
a velvet voice, a velvet vice.
He trained my heart to answer like a bell, then rewired the ring;
He fed me compliments like candy, called it caring, called it king.
I drank the tonic toxic: a poisonous tonic, neat and sweet,
Red as blood, dripping from my nose from his caring hit
it fizzed in my chest, promised cure, called my fear retreat.
He said, “love is blind,” so I blinked slow and believed the line
I was too blind to see that “blind” was his design.
At first it rhymed with rescue: rescue, refuge, home,
I wrote my name across his map and let his map become my own.
Remember Ruth and Naomi ‘Your people;my people....’
He learned my quiet, counted cracks, made maps of what I hide,
then used my compass to reroute me until I lost my stride.
“Why you quiet?” He would whisper, then correct me when I spoke;
“Can’t take a joke?” He’d gasp, and wear concern like smoke.
It sounded like protection sharp, shaped like a pet name
but protection turned possession; possession wore his fame.
I traded days for apologies, sunsets for small sad smiles,
I traded whole Sundays for his leftover guiles.
I folded my edges, tucked my truths in tighter seams,
because the mirror said I fit his story better than my dreams.
He loved my hunger then scolded me for wanting bread,
He cherished my loud then warned me not to wake the dead.
He called it devotion when he clipped the wings I grew;
He called it passion when the passion only flew from me to you.
I stitched my silence into armor, I wore it like a crown,
apologizing for thunder when he taught me to bow down.
“Love is blind,” he hummed and I let blindness be my shame,
I was too blind to see his kindness always came with claim.
But blindness isn’t noble when it’s chosen like a cloak;
it’s a bargain signed in ink, a promise choked, a joke.
I tasted the last sip and felt the bitter spread
toxic is a tonic that baptizes the living dead.
So I spat it on the floor, let the glass hit light and ring,
and for the first time since his lullaby, I learned to sing.
I blinked hard until my vision stopped making excuses;
I found my voice again in broken rhyme, in smaller bruises.
He told me love is blind; I say love learns to see.
I was too blind to see yes but blindness wasn’t me.
I kept the lesson, not the leash: I kept my name, my time.
I walked out of his chorus and back into my rhyme.
Toxic was his tonic bitter, bound, ironic in its gloss
I left before the sweetness finished teaching me to loss.
Now when someone says, “love is blind,” I answer from the light:
love can be kind, and if it’s right it lets you keep your sight.
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