i always wanted love.
never found it, but always wanted it.
true love.
not the fake love I saw around me.

i had a fake love.
bought her flowers.
as the flowers died, so did our love.

if I find my true love, I’d buy her fake flowers.
as do the flowers, our love will last forever.

Retaliation is our way of communication.

It's the Love Language left out of the books.

It's a question, it's an answer,

it's a statement on its own.

It's heartbreak hiding beneath dirty looks.

It's giving you a taste of your own medicine.

It's the broken way I say, you hurt my feelings.

It's lessons learned, it's bridges burned,

It's the way the tables always turn.

It's yet another pitiful way I avoid dealing.

It's the icicles hanging in your coldest silence.

It's the steel in your cruelest tone of voice.

You adore me, you abhor me,

You always seem to ignore me.

It's your refusal to ever make an actual choice.

It's the girl you awoke next to this morning.

It's my name on your lips in a stranger's bed.

Anoher text sent, another truth bent,

Another promise with zero intent.

It's how you keep your selfish appetites fed.

Retaliation is a race with a photo finish.

Too close to tell who will be declared winner.

It's ego maintained, bitterness gained,

It's the memory of the loveliest pain.

It's Sunday forgiveness for Saturday's sinner.

It's faceless men I use to keep my heart safe.

It's your name on my lips in another's embrace.

It's dissatisfaction, laws of attraction,

It's the relentless pursuit of distraction.

It's a perfect dive, head first into my disgrace.

It's a childish game of who hits the hardest.

It's a foolish game of who gets the last word.

It's tit for tat, it's this for that,

Passive aggressive, covert attack.

It's every love story gone wrong you've ever heard.

"When I was your age," Sorcerer said, "we had to use wands to spell-cast."

Witch shrugged, "Whatever. The mind is a wand."

"We didn't even have TV remotes."

"TV? We stream to mobiles.  Didn't you use your wand to change channels?"

Sorcerer looked chagrined. Busted.

"That was my favorite spell."

If you don't think writing is a sport, you've never sat through the agony of an adult education creative writing course.

Disguised as a nurturing learning environment, the adult ed creative writing class is really a den of would-be word Olympians poised to strike down the competition on their way to publishing glory.

They are all experts. They all know more than you know. Anything you can write, they can write better. Yet, ironically, you won't find very many bestselling authors in this dugout. In fact, you won't find any. But that never stopped anyone from offering advice on how to "make it." It is not lost on you that even your teacher has not made it. He's teaching an adult ed creative writing class on Tuesday nights at a community college, for crying out loud!

The "sharing" portion of the class is just that, but not in the way you'd expect. You stretch your writing muscles, you flex your pen and then you share your work. While you're cooling down and replenishing your fluids, your fellow classmates emerge from their corners to share their "opinions" of what you've written. And you know what is said about opinions.

No, there is no home stretch. There is no victory lap. There is only endless training, some sparring and a few bruises.

You will not have truly made it until you never step foot in that arena again.