Its like I have lost a life missing you,
Wanting you and wondering,
What it would be like with you by my side.

Am I wrong?
to still feel the first sight infatuation
to write you sweet serenades or poems
to say I love you?

Am I wrong?
to show you off through paper & pen
to entitle my heart to you
to wanting to feel you?

Am I wrong?
to needing you
to wanting you
to loving you?

I didn’t ask
for harsh words.
I merely wanted
a ball glove.

Bruises of my youth
will fade,
but memories of your anger
are seared forever.

I sought protection,
but only received excuses
which smelled
of whiskey and
stale cigarettes.

You called me
a mistake of passion,
you treated me
as a little lower
than your dog.

Why?
No wait…
don’t answer.

Your cruel interactions
led me to
a determined goal:
to live free.

I’ve turned madness into
bravery,
teaching others
to be proud,
walk up straight,
be courageous.

I want the world to know
my story, the history
which made me
who I am today.

I am yours,
though your denial
rots away your
last chance at decency.

I hope you see
where you’ve gone
wrong,
for I’ve told your life
through the eyes
of a child.

so I brought my writer wife
(prominently pregnant)
to the hospital
and on her bed, she screamed:
"weren't" "hasn't" "couldn't" "shan't"
"aint" "hadn't" "you're" "isn't"
"aren't" "didn't" "wasn't"
"who's?" "what's?" "he's" "she's"

The doctors were confounded
and they turned to me and they said:
"What the hell is she doing?"

And I replied with double speed
and a violent sense of urgency:
*"Don't you know?
She's having contractions -
she's a writer"

One day, my son, you'll understand why not all trees grow.