I can't seem to finish a poem these days
They are all about you.
Thinking about the message that says

"I
Love
You".

Love. Words. Love.
All we have is words, all we ever had was words, though all we ever have is love.
Was thinking of saying that I loved you calling me golden, but the fact is you never called me at all.
And yet

"I
Love
You".

The idea.
What could have been, what we could have been. What we were. What we are.?

I
Love
You.

Two painstaking years later
The scars turned into art .

Those tarnished memories
Were once treasured.  
And now they just float carelessly.  
Away into nothingness.

The pain they carved.  
And the weight they carry.  
Now it seems, it was just dead weight.
But they're wisked away , this time---
No gut wrenching sorrow.
I traded my scars for art  .

A Red Rose that smells of the infatuation and curiosity.  
It's innocent purpose to lure and beguile the eyes That fall onto its silhouette.  

It's gorgeous.  
The way the crimson petals dance in the wind.

Is that fair?
A token of curiosity for the passage to a broken , lifeless heart?
A stone now more than flesh?

Not so long ago, another was presented.  
But it grew thorns on my side.
What is one more ?

And so now this remains admired from afar
Its beauty quickly fading.

Is it fair that it be judged as a poison?
And not as a white flag waived from that distance?
An apology not from the abuser.  
But a gesture intended to make up for that lost dream?

It is tempting i must admit.
To indulge in that sweet fragrance that lingers  .
But a poison never tastes bitter.
What to do?
What to say?
What to do?

They'll see in time;
I know they will.
But for now,
I'll tread slowly.
Alone if i must.
But we'll find a way;
After all, a storm can't last forever.

Two little girls at play cheerfully.
Daddy's sleeping.  
Mama's humming in the kitchen.
All is bright. All is well.

One crimson kool-aid stain.
But barbies blanket will fix it.
It's a mess.
Mama's yelling.
All is noise and confusion.

Four hands clash in the air like angry vipers.
Like two great titans, they collide.
There's no time.
But a war zone is no place for Barbie .

Two little girls huddle closely under a bed.
Heads shielded beneath each other's arms.
Tables have fallen.
Plates are  shattered.
All is chaos. All is broken.

And then there's that deafening silence .

Red, white,and blue lights scream their justice over bright yellow walls.
The sirens wail like vultures at a ****.

Two little eyes peek--
To reveal the most vivid image fifteen seconds can carve.

One little girl clings on to her father's leg.
Screaming. Kicking. Crying.
" please don't take my daddy away."

All is bright. None is seen.

Whats the word they use?
Dead.
I should be dead.
2013 I'm young at heart but numb to reality.  I'm pushed around and beaten senseless.
The bruises come and go, but I think Nothing of em.

2016 I'm a little more acquainted to the pain.
Fear looked at me in the eye and moved in with me .
The silent tears I let fall made groves in the ground.
Sometimes I want to feel something other than pain, but what else is there aside ? I dont know .

2018 I know the best ways to land . Face covered, hands shielding, legs running as fast as they can.
I know every foot step, and the weight they carry behind em.
I know the schedule like clockwork.
I know what to say and what not to say.
I'm a good girl.

2019 im a little bolder . So much more smartmouthed. It's earned me newer cuts and swolen bruises but I can stand on my own two feet.
Eyes alert, anger bubbling.
I know every moment and thier intentions.
2020 I'm plotting. Its wrong. But I know now.
I told a friend why I had that on my shoulder. He looked at me in shock.
Mace? A knife? Maybe a tazer.
I know every floor board and how to slip away unnoticed.
But what lies ahead ?
What else can I feel ?
Is it worse?
All I know is I should be dead. And yet here I am.

I run ,
and I run,
And manage to go nowhere.
Yet you are everywhere.
Without even so much as a glimmer of a memory, you resurface.
You refuse to be bottled up and it shows.

Some days you are steam and smoke.
Other days you're as gentle as bubbles floating by.
But mostly, You show up all washed up along the shores of my mind.
A subtle but ever present memory of You.

But I run. I dodge. I swiftly swat the lingering thoughts that waft through my head.

Sometimes you're a raging voice,
Or the silver sound of laughter rippling through.
You just can't be restricted, can you ?

So tell me how I should best rid you of my life.
Because it seems at this point;
Running is futile.