It’s always dark when I start to miss your touch.
The 12 o clock crunch of your chips in our bed.
The way you always smelled so strong.
Though, we both knew that being such was not your strong suit.

It’s always that song that makes me miss you.
The one we would blast our souls out to, on winding road.
The melody that melted our minds into one.
As if we weren’t already.

You always called me an 80’s movie.
Never was quite sure
if it was a compliment or not.
But it didn’t matter because You overlapped it with sweet fog.

You liked that I was more broken than you.
And so did I.

You once played a song.
When I didn’t cry you said “you must’ve never been heartbroken before”.
Now I break down any time I hear it.

You showed me all of the fire flies in my grass.
Now I see them and my eyes go blurry.
The blurry streams down my face even more when they are gone.

You must be visiting someone else tonight.

I still text your number.
I know I shouldn’t
but somehow I feel like you get the messages.
I hear your response in my head as I hit send.

I can still feel like pressure of your fingertips against mine, as if they never left.
It makes me wonder how I could fall in love with someone I could never get close to.

But you liked that I was more in love than you.
And so did I.

Dear mother.
Though my love for you is unconditional,
As the love of family should be
I have learned to accept that it is not returned.

When I say it should be,
I mean that I hold the same value as the picture frames that linger on your workstation.

When I say it is not returned,
I mean that when I’m finally introduced to new people, they are not shocked that you have another daughter.

Unconditional does not mean I linger in the shadows of your embarrassment, right next to the divorce you almost had.
I have learned to accept the darkness, as your only source of love.

Dear mother, why has it not occurred to you that a heartbreak doesn’t have to be a lover.
Your tongue of blades has cut my soul for the last time.

You are often the topic of my therapy session, always ending in “why do you give her so much control?”.
My only answer is that it must be my unwillingness to accept that maybe God doesn’t think I need a family.

What is a life where not once, but twice you have been cast out of the cult that is supposed to be life long.
Maybe the cult is life long, but your love for me never will be.

Dear mother how can you not see that you are my biggest threat.
My guts spill out of my stomach onto my feet every time you message me.
My chest conclaves into itself for protection.

How does my ability to love the same *** equate the audacity of ******.
Since when does love become a bigger threat than the *** trafficking that takes place right on our doorsteps.

Dear mother, how can you not understand that heartbreak doesn’t have to be a lover, but sometimes reveals Itself to be a mother.

When describing myself to others
I often refer to myself as a tree.
I am not majestic like the willow.
Or unique like the palm.

I am the biggest oak you’ve ever seen.
I am strong, confident, resistant.
I am the tree that stood high despite the hurricanes, tornados, and floods.

The problem is that I am, in fact, a tree.
My skin is not soft. It’s is harsh
like the wooden armor surrounding me.
It takes an axe to cut through these layers.

Despite my efforts, I cannot help
But to hold onto the weapons that have attempted to bring me down.
My carcass refuses to release after the assaults.

Instead of letting go and healing my wounds,
I keep the daggers until a new layer confines the evidence of your presence.
To remind me of the lesson I should not have had to learn.

I call them lessons but they are more like disappointments.
Locked into my body, to keep me aware of the danger of mankind.

I am aware that these keep-sakes are not harmless.
But losing the integrity of this body is worth it, if it creates the façade that I am stronger than you.

My leaves may fall
Limbs collapse.
But still, after I am made hallow from the disease underneath the beauty of my strength.
I will still be standing. All weapons intact.

Sometimes, pretending that I am a tree,
Is a better reality,
Than realizing that as a human,
I shouldn’t be.

Sometimes love is a lie.
It is the dinner table of an enchanted feast
Little did you know that the roast is poisoned.

When I say poison
I mean they casted a spell.
A spell that gives them power over what you do and say.

Under this spell
you do not stand up for yourself.
You let them mold you as if you are made of sand. Even though you know they will stomp on you. Form you flat. Nonexistent.

Is that the price of unconditional love?
Thinking outside of the box (A.K.A breaking the spell) gets you put into a box, duct taped, Saran wrapped, zip tied, and shoved under the bed when love has company.

Is that the result of being an embarrassment?
When I say embarrassment, I instantly think of my divorce. How I was ripped apart from the inside out only leaving my organs bruised and exposed. Well love came around the corner with a scalpel.

Is that the expense of being a disappointment?
When I say disappointment, I see the screenshots I was sending to my friends as love told me that I hate myself because I’m gay. Love never took into consideration that it was my first happy and healthy relationship.

I began to grow out of my shoes again.
Learned to ask the right questions.
Like, how can love harbor so much hate for my ability to open my heart to the unorthodox?

My ability to run from the lies of love, and find the purest form in myself.
I am the H2O that saved Bobby Bushay.
I am sprouting from the inside.
And everyone can see it, except love.

As I grow I continue to learn.
I’ve learned family is just blood.
I’ve learned that death is empty.
I’ve learned to roll my pants up In rain.

I now know that fighting is singular.
There is no plural when you are the only one standing at the front line.
As a woman they tell you never to walk alone, yet no one volunteers to stand by your side?

I am often asked why I hate men.
The only honest answer is that I don’t.
I hate the excuses society has made for them.
I hate that they bare no cross for their actions.
They bare no remorse for their victims.

Society teaches women to yell but don’t scream any words to disrupt the peaceful slumber of the wicked. Oh how they rest so easy.
Society teaches women to stand but only in the way back, as not to disturb the men that are digging deep into their ribs to power over our voices.

I do not stand at the front line screaming that all men are bad. No.
I stand alone screaming not to trust a single one considering the ones that wish to gain our trust the most, are the ones that easily turn.

When a man hits a woman, he is not showing her he is strong. He is trying to make her believe that it is easy it is for him to break her.
When a man rapes a woman, he is not showing her how good he is in bed. He is trying to make her believe that she should’ve tried to prevent it.

The biggest issue is the justification that society has built on the bones of ***** and beaten.
In a society where you receive 40 years prison time for bribery, and 2 years for ****.
A society that won’t ruin the life of a young man but allows men to ruin the sanity of our young women.

You ruin a mans life for reporting. You’re lying if you don’t report. You’re a coward for staying while he hit you, but you’re just as guilty for hitting him back. You attempt to take your life after the trauma of a ****; if you fail, you’re just asking for attention. If you succeed, you’re selfish.

Seems that we are not a society of violence. Just a Society of forgiveness at the expense of our daughters.

So no, don’t ever trust a man.

Hello poetry
It’s been long since we’ve last conversed
I forgot about you
Like a child forgets their favorite toy at the park.

I was distracted by a light.
Cosmic essence of beauty
Golden curls, eyes greener than luck.
And a mouth that said all the right things.

Betrayal comes in many forms these days
While some show their face
Others hide in the insecurities of their prey
They lay high on the chain.

While I lay low.
Soaking up the promises and compliments
Even though I know they are well versed.
I can tell by the way they flow from your lips

I listen. Promising not to believe it
But we both know that’s empty
Just like me when you found me
And pulled me up to the tallest tower.

Little did I know that the hands that pulled me
The hands that held me,
The hands that healed me,
Would be the hands that pushed me to demise.

Silly little girl, you knew what you were.
To him you were an empty water bottle,
That would fill again until he found a new one.
To him, you were something to be used.

But the worst thing about it all,
Is that you let him.

“She stands in front of the mirror
Looking into her own eyes
As tears fill to the rim.
She stands there hands clenched
While the guilty sit down, lips
Sitting on the brim of their solo cup.

He does not have to use the buddy system
At least, not as often, in the dark.
Maybe his shorts are not short enough
Or maybe it’s biological
But still her throat starts closing up.

As if he shoved his fist in it
Yanked it
Twisted it
And pulled out the only piece left of her heart.

That’s not even the sad part.

Now she is to blame.
That shirt she wore was a little low cut.
Those jeans she wore to show off her ****
*** she deserved it for being a ****.

Disgusting.

No I’m not talking about her.
I’m talking about you and your shrill mind.
You are not special, not one of a kind.
You’re exactly what society has refined,
As a new normal.

Society yells to “kick those who are already down
Scream the lies to make their words not count.
Push your rumors until she falls down.
And destroy her image so that she can’t climb back out.

Amen.”

But we as women should not stay silent.
The years are gone of us being quiet.
We should raise our fists up as one. United.
And demand the justice they have been hiding.

For ever scratch, mark, and battle bruise.
For every gun they have ever pointed at you.
For every hand that has covered out mouth
Will be bitten
And every dollar thrown at us, to bribe us into to quitting.

I only have one sentence to say to all
One to one, yes we will fall
But together at last
That’s how we will win it.
Don’t hold your breath, it’s only the beginning.