the words used to flow like silk through my fingertips
i used to know exactly how to weave them
make them fall into tapestries, hang them from walls
emblazoned with unadulterated innocence.

it wasn't until you asked to look at my creations
that i realised sunlight could be so damaging
my words felt frivolous under your scathing gaze
and they stuttered, crumbled. my tapestries fell.

now they're dust and i'm on my knees, crawling
grasping fistfuls that seep through my hands
you can't write about something you can't feel
and now i can't feel anything.

this is the last poem i'll write about you.

do·mes·tic vi·o·lence
noun
violent or aggressive behavior within the home, typically involving the violent abuse of a spouse or partner.

po·et
ˈpōət/Submit
noun
a person who writes poems.
synonyms: writer of poetry, versifier, rhymester, rhymer, sonneteer, lyricist, lyrist; More
a person possessing special powers of imagination or expression.

paint·er1
ˈpān(t)ər/Submit
noun
1.an artist who paints pictures."a German landscape painter"
2.a person who paints buildings, walls, ceilings, and woodwork, especially as a job.

Are you seeing my body as a portrait,
With painted fields of flowers and streams?
Not a picture of a one night stand and a text forgetting my name?
“I won't regret this” his husky voice kisses my ear.
He paints with purples and blues across my thighs,
And around my neck.
I was always told to never fall for a painter because
Once they finish their masterpiece
They are on to the next, tossing away the last one.
I became a sculpture, with bodies as my canvas
And my nails as my tools.
He was painting my body, as i was carving into his.
Leaving marks and naming my territory.
Soon i discovered i was made to be a poet,
Striking people with my words,
No longer using my fingers to leave messages but my voice.
I learned to hurt people in the best ways.
But in worse ways he left me.
~a.u
November 26, 2:13 PM

When I had first wrote this, I was in the back of a friends car. Thinking about the future. We never really know what all could happen. At first, my poem was about a intimate relationship between partners, but towards the end, it shows an abusive relationship.  After reading many books, seeing posts we get into relationships with people we do not know until it is too late. In awareness of those who had suffered from
Domestic violence, abuse, ****, here is my poem, Painter.

It was my freshman year at high school.
I never took notice of this masculine blue eyed kid.
He had a girlfriend at the time.
She was a senior, ready to graduate.
He was only a sophomore, not sure of what he was doing.
I understand that now.
A year later, being a sophomore.
Him and his girlfriend broke up five months ago.
He told me she took his virginity, then cheated on him with one of his friends.
She now lives in another state carrying his friends child.
He’s different now. But i'm not sure if it’s for better or worse.
We talk everyday, in person or over the phone.
I wouldn't say he is my friday obsession,
But god…
That kid takes my breath away.
I told myself to not fall.
But i don’t think i’ve ever met someone so… mysterious.

There are days where i feel like the skies were made for me
But days like this one,
I want to crawl back into the depths of my warm blankets
And bury my head under my pillow
Because my migraines are simple examples to tell you
Just a little of what pain i feel.
I'm sorry i wasn't good enough for your golden medals and
Classic trophy set.
They say “brains before beauty”
But i'm smart for all the wrong reasons
And i'm not beautiful without makeup
Caked onto my less-than average face.
I'll never be matched to your beautiful standards
And your white picket fences.
Please excuse my lack of popularity,
i'm just a void in the shadows trying to make it  
In your all too busy world.
I care for you, maybe a little too much.
but your smiles disappeared and your eyes became dull,
I'm sorry for caring for you. I just want to make sure you are okay.
You don't smile, or laugh anymore.
You keep your head down or maybe it's whenever i'm around.
I've been told i'm clingy, annoying even.
But i'd give my happiness up for you to smile again.
Not those fake close lipped smiles,
The one where you feel as if your face is breaking and
All you can do is keep smiling because you don't want that
Feeling to go away.
You never ask me if i'm okay,
And that's all i ever ask you.
What happened to the stars in your eyes?
I'm sorry that it hurts you to love me.
-au

My poems are focused on
Sad endings to love,
Not the feeling of love itself.
I loved the wrong person,
At the wrong time.
Now I know it’s okay.
Because loving that wrong person
Taught me how to love the right person.
My right person was loving the
Wrong person too.
Eight months is a short time
For six months of hurt.
He knows it’s okay.
Here we are
Four months later
Loving the right people,
at the right time.

I know he’s my person.
I hope i'm his.
-au

I don't really like to be touched, by anyone really.
It makes me feel ***** and uncomfortable.
There are days when, all I want to do is wash my body with bleach because I can't stand the way their skin feels.

Some days, I can handle hugs.
Some days, I crave to be cuddled.
But the feeling of his skin against mine,
made me crave more than a hug.
I found myself dreaming to be tangled with him.
Not with white sheets within the walls of his room, but with the calluses of his palm meshing with mine.
I miss his hugs.

He described my eyes with words
I cannot spell.
My boring eyes.
He reads me like an open book,
he said my eyes get bright and sparkle when I'm happy,
and dull when I'm sad.

His life is a highway, constantly busy
while mine is a old dirt road.
I'm sorry that your highway is always filled with passing people.
-A.U

1.  There is nothing romantic about the way our hair falls out or the way we hover over the open toilet like there's no other empty space in the house.
2. Do not think that it will be easier to love us because the love we aren’t giving ourselves will go to you.
3. You can trail your fingers along my rib cage, count every vertebrae in my back like marbles stacked high on top of each other. This is not beautiful, this is what dying looks like.
4. I’m sorry for the smell of my breath, but there’s no amount of toothpaste that could cover up the smell of myself rotting from the inside out.
5. “I thought you had to be skinny to have an eating disorder.”
5.   “You don’t look like you starve yourself.”
5.   I know that you wish you could hold me without worrying i’ll turn to dust if you squeeze too hard.
6.   I grew up being told that my body is a temple and I should treat it as such, but I don’t think this is right, see; temples can be destroyed but it always takes another person. I am doing this to myself.
7.   I can’t remember the last time I ate without feeling guilty.
7.   I can’t remember the last time I ate.
8.   One day, I will be nothing and you will be nothing, and i’m sorry that i’m already so close to being gone.
9.   I want to get better. I am trying to get better.
10. Do not think that loving us will be easier, because the love we do not give ourselves is gone, and we cannot love you more than we don’t love ourselves.