When I Look At You

When I Look At You

By Annette Camp 

August 2, 2026

When I look at you,

I notice your eyes first.

Not because they are beautiful,

though they are,

but because they are always

revealing something.

A spark of curiosity.

A quiet thought.

A laugh before it arrives.

I watch them brighten

when music finds you.

A song begins, and 

suddenly your fingers snap.

Your shoulders follow.

Your feet join in.

The room becomes larger

because you are dancing

in it, and joy takes

space around you.

I love hearing you

sing in the jeep.

unconcerned with perfection,

giving yourself fully

into the moment,

turning an ordinary

drive into something alive.

And the little game

that begins whenever

I lift the camera.

The faces.

The exaggerated expressions.

The way you lean

into the moment,

turning a simple photo

into something fun.

And then there are those

that we take where

I see your smile

because happiness

found a place to rest.

I see that same smile

standing beside our

paint-and-sip canvases

holding memories that matter

far more than the artwork.

I love watching you

when you are shopping too.

An outfit.

A perfume.

Something small that you

weren't planning to buy.

There is an excitement

that appears in you.

I never grow tired

of that giddiness.

I love the glow that

follows a facial or massage,

devoted entirely to yourself.

You emerge lighter somehow,

relaxed in a way that

reaches beyond your skin.

I love seeing your face

after you've hugged your kids.

And when you FaceTime

with your grandchildren.

The conversation may be over

but that smile remains.

You light up.

And then there's high tea.

I find myself smiling.

I love the anticipation,

the discovery and 

the wonder that

still finds you.

I love watching you

after the theater.

The performance ends.

The lights come up.

There's something that

has shifted in you.

Let that stay!

I love watching

you experiencing

something new.

A new place.

A new idea.

A new delight.

When I look at you,

what I see is life.

Life in your eyes.

Life in your laughter.

Life in your dancing,

your singing,

your love.

And every time I witness it.

I find another reason

to keep looking.

What I Can Give

What I Can Give

By Annette Camp 

July 6, 2026

I met you online August 19th of 2025,

before either of us knew what shape

this would take,

before conversations became comforting rituals,

before your name became part of my every day.

We moved toward each other

one choice at a time,

learning the terrain of each other's hearts,

finding laughter, finding quality time,

finding something that neither of us

could pretend was casual.

And then, six weeks ago,

we stopped standing at the edge of it

and called it what it was.

A partnership.

A promise.

A decision to build something lasting.

Tonight, my heart hurts that I cannot

give you everything you deserve.

You deserve the certainty of marriage.

You deserve the legal protections that

should never be a question for a lesbian couple.

You deserve the security of knowing that

someone is standing beside you and saying,

without hesitation,

"I choose you only for life, as your wife"

You deserve every safeguard,

every recognition,

every assurance that a love

like ours should come with.

And I know there are places where

I fall short of that.

Not because I do not love you.

Not because I do not see your worth.

Not because I cannot imagine a lifetime

of caring for you.

What I can give you is honesty.

I can give you my presence.

I can give you the truth that since August,

you have mattered to me in a way that

changed the landscape of my life.

I can tell you that being your partner is

not something I take lightly.

I can tell you that your happiness matters to me,

that your fears matter to me,

that your future matters to me.

I can tell you that every day I am grateful that

our paths crossed when they did.

And while I cannot offer every promise

that you deserve,

please know that the love I give you is real.

It is thoughtful.

It is deliberate.

It is true.

You have given me the things that a 

meaningful relationship would consist of 

respect, communication, compassion, 

understanding, and a place in your heart.

I do not take any of it for granted.

I only hope that when you look at us,

you can see what I see,

Two women who found each other unexpectedly.

Two hearts that kept choosing each other.

And a love that, although imperfect

in its circumstances,

it is not in its sincerity.

Hugged and Heard

Hugged and Heard 

By Annette Camp 

May 6, 2026

Before words assemble themselves,

arms arrive. Not to fix.

Just a chosen gesture.

There is silence. Not sentences.

Being held does not mean

being contained.

I am open. Made wider.

My voice is received.

My words invited this.

There is clarity in

this moment: Love.

And something shifts.

Letting my words exist

became an invitation.

My honesty was met

with understanding.

Willingness on my part

to place my truth where

others could see it with

unmistakable care.

I feel change take root

beneath my skin.

Open to what

continues to unfold.

I stay with the

stillness of this

moment feeling

hugged and heard.

The Weight of the Wedding Ring

For those of you who know my story, I finally got the words to express what I felt that day. For those who do not know, I came out as a lesbian at 16 years old. At 23, I found myself without a home and a guy who asked me 3 times to marry him. At that time, I gave in, believing I didn't have another option. The poem explains my feelings on the day of my wedding to a man I barely knew.

The Weight of the Wedding Ring 

By Annette Camp

May 1, 2026

I stand at the door before the ceremony.

My mother asks, "Why the tears?"

I dare not say they are the release

of what I do not speak.

My words have already been decided.

I do not want myself on the stage.

Others rise around me.

Their faces blur.

Expectation pulls at my heart

as the tears continue to flow.

Inside myself, I keep asking,

"What are you doing?"

I walk forward carefully as though

the floor might give way beneath me.

My knees weaken with every step.

My heart is heavy.

My terror is hidden.

My doubts continue without rest.

I think about the permanence

of this one act.

Marriage feels like a narrow bridge

everyone told me to cross.

A husband.

Children.

A proper home arranged

beneath God's approval.

The altar waits for my approach.

The congregation listens

to words I cannot hear anymore.

The room feels distant from my body.

My bouquet trembles in my hands.

When the vows begin,

my chest tightens so violently

I think I might faint

before the words are finished.

Then the ring.

Gold shining.

Heavy beyond proportion.

The moment it touches my finger

it slips from my hand.

I want to say no.

Not dramatically.

Not loudly.

Just one honest word

finally allowed to breathe.

Denial is not holy.

Yet, I am told submission is.

Eyes are watching.

Cameras are rolling.

Someone retrieves the ring.

So I swallow the word

that burns all the way down.

I let him slide the band

onto my finger where the

metal settles like the

closing of a gate.

I stand there silently

as everyone rises in celebration.

I hide my grief and wonder

if God can feel the weight

of the wedding ring.