Oh, my summer Love…
It isn’t fair.

You are one of the most beautiful people
whom I have ever met,
yet the cruel words from your past
have convinced you that you
are still the ugly duckling.

You are not –
you have the strength of a survivor,
your beauty radiates
through and between your scars.

And while I rage against the world for those very scars,
I question what kind of woman you might have been
had the world not been so insecure
that it felt the need to attack you.

For even though you are hamstrung,
you have weathered storms –
I see it in the way you move:
ever forward, like a charging knight.

You are a modern-day Joan of Arc,
and the world wants to destroy you like it did her,
because it cannot bear to see a beauty rise
that does not owe it allegiance.

So to survive, you gave up your love for yourself.
And now, even though I tell you that you are beautiful,
even though I tell you, frequently,
“You are pretty; you are beautiful.
You are attractive, and hell, you are arousing,”
you do not believe a word of it.

Instead, you remember a laundry list of ex-boyfriends
who treated you like their backup plan.
You remember your father,
how he called you, “Thunder Thighs,”
and made you hate yourself.

And if killing them could save you, I would.
I would wade through an ocean of blood;
I would call in all the debts that you have forgiven,
but never, ever forgotten.

I would take them all to task,
and challenge them because there is no difference
between physical, verbal, and emotional violence.
And listening to you, I know
they were not kind to you.

But that will not save you.
I’m not sure what will, but
I know I want to try.
What I see in you calls to me
like a siren song through the dull-grey fog of this world.

So what I will do is this:
I will tell you that you are beautiful,
each and every moment I can,
and I will never lie to you,
so you know I’m not lying then either.

I will support you,
and throw the winds of my storm
under the wings of your dreams
so your heart can soar.

I will hold you like you are a treasure,
kiss you like you matter,
and, God-willing,
make love to you like you take my breath away.

Because you already do.

I would take the thighs which you find unlovable
and use my teeth and tongue to play a song upon them.
I would use every lesson I’ve ever learned
to coax a symphony of glory out of the body
you do not believe to be glorious.

I would be your shield and sword –
your staunchest defender,
your most charismatic rogue,
stealing back the truth
the world took from you.

I would have you be the last sight of my night
and the first view of each new day.
I would wake you with a kiss,
a cuddle,
and rise before you to get coffee.

I know you’re not a morning person.
But I am, and I would throw my strength into your corner,
and fill the gaps in your defenses.
I would be a man you can trust.

I would carve out a place in my life for you,
give you my first and my very best,
and offer you the vulnerable moment
of seeing my worst too.

I would have you be mine,
but I know that there is nothing I can do
to make that so.
Only you can make that claim.

Instead,
I can only tell you,
honestly and fervently,
that I am yours.

I am yours lady,
and as sure as the sun rises,
I would dote upon your whims,
champion your dreams,
and be the weapon of your vengeance.

I would love you for you,
serve you because I see the value you do not,
and chastise you if need be,
because I do not think you would respect a man
who merely rolled over for you.

I am yours lady,
and I wait upon the day
when I earn your favor
and the reward
that is the echo of my words.

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