The Gates

It was once said

Before you speak

Let your words pass through three gates:

Is it true?

Is it necessary?

Is it kind?

Do not appoint yourself the keeper of my gates. Do not seek to tame the wild animal inside my heart. Do not confuse my honesty for lack of devotion. Do not demand that I dilute of the truth under the guise of kindness. Love is brutal. And beautiful. And horrible. And honest. Do not abandon me because my words are powerful enough to inspire pain. They are spoken in truth. My truth. The truth hurts.

What is necessary? Compassion. In the aftermath of words that have fallen like bombs and streaked like shrapnel. Do not retreat from someone who loves you enough not to lie. Do not pack the wounds to your ego with the bitter gauze of silence. Do not steal my secrets and crumple my love letters because I dared to speak. Because I wasn’t afraid of the truth. My mouth was designed for kissing between confessions, not quieting. Do not invite a ghost to bed and then resent the clamor of chains. Do not pacify a woman of passion.

When I said I loved you…

It was true.

It was necessary.

It was kind.

But do not ever confuse those words and their perfect delivery from my parted lips, as being keys. To my gates. For the times I speak the other truths that aren’t wrapped in pretty paper and ribbons. The arguments. And the tears. For the words that growl and taste bitter like poison but are delivered with the same honesty and sincerity as the ‘I love you’s.




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Amor et melle et felle est fecundissimus || Love is rich with both honey and venom

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