It's a fine line between love and hate, or at least that's how the saying goes. However hammy a line can be, there's usually an element of truth in it somewhere. Hate and love are so easily interchangeable it can seem hard to separate the two. The key to the interchange is vulnerability.
When falling for someone, to let them know requires a real commitment to the idea of feeling something for them. We have to take that emotion, chew over it for a little while, try the flavor of the concept out in a sort of mental mastication, savour the apprehension and see if this has whet our appetite enough to prostrate ourselves at the first opportunity in a manner that is often a good few levels below the usual dignity standards. So if a rebuff follows or the romance doesn't take off, the most hurt is often the one who lay themselves on the line. (Trust me, you'll think twice before you do it again.)
On the other hand we often aren't vulnerable when we hate someone. When given the opportunity to vent we can rage in a fury for however long it may take. It is when all of the anger is over, the absence of raw, emotional anger can leave us somewhat deflated and defenceless, the last licks of a fight taking their toll. It is at this point we can be vulnerable enough for our feelings to take an almighty U-turn and send us right into the arms of the person we've been passionately hating for so long.So yes, sometimes, this can really suck. Sometimes all that passion and raw emotion can be great and it certainly feeds poetry. But for now, mainly because I'm in the mood to be stubborn, it sucks.Love is...Love is a prisonShackling you to a radiator in a dark place,Warm and uncomfortable,Somewhere you don't want to be.
Love is a contractWritten by the devil signed in blood,Legally binding you to a place,Somewhere you don't want to be.
Love is a pair of handcuffsTying you to a bullseye; a blindfolded circus clownHurling sharpened knives towardSomewhere you don't want to be.
Love is a whipLashing at your back carried by one who'll hurt you mostAs you lay prostrate,Somewhere you don't want to be.
Love is a chasm In which you fall spinning faster, tumbling,Hurtling toward a place,Somewhere you don't want to be.
Love is a live volcano.Love is a plastic bag around your throat.Love is a bush fire.Love is almond tainted poison.
Love is a drugPushed into strapped veins turning us inside out,Dragging us kicking and screamingSomewhere you would die to be.
ThanksL x