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

Fairy Tales end with happy endings,
Not bad memories and a drug problem.
I see the world as a sad fairy tale
With teens wishing upon a star,
Wanting a happy ending.
I wanna DIE!
They scream as they drag
a blade across their perfect skin
With an abusive father
and alcoholic mother.
I want you to LOVE me.
She cries because he left
Her for a better version
Of barbie, with bleach blonde
Hair and sunkissed skin.
I want this all to end
He slurs while finishing
The empty bottle of jack
He kept hidden under his bed
Away from his toxic grandparents
And runaway sister.
I have no place on earth
He laughs while placing a colorful
Sticker on his tongue
Starving because his house is broke
And his mother is addicted to ****.
I know stories
That are not mine to tell,
Stories that are told without words
But actions that speak
For themselves.
There’s a girl overfilled with
Pills and drama.
She reminds me of a bubble
Light, and fun to play with
But get to rough and she’ll explode.
There’s a boy with a mind of a girl,
Filled with unhappy thoughts
And bad memories sent away
For eight months because of
The rope tied to the ceiling.
There’s an eighteen year old who
Writes music to escape
The feeling of being messed over
By a girl with unhealthy habits
And a way with tricks.  
I know a boy who chose
A better life in the marines,
then a jealous stepbrother,
And suicidal father.
Today, i spoke of these stories
I was told to show you how life
Is not always given a happy ending
For those who deserve it.

But you, have the decision to change it all now.  
~a.u.

If I gave you a bottle of pills,
    Would you take them?
If I gave you a box of razors,
    would you call it art?
If I gave you a lighter,
   would you escape the fire?
If I gave you a rope,
   would you make a noose?
If gave you life,
   would you throw it all away?
If I told you you weren't good enough,
    what would you use?
If I pointed out your flaws,
    How much make up would you use?
If I told you, you're not wanted,
    Would you end it all now?
If I said it will be okay,
that I would never leave you,
    Would you lie and say you believe me ?