Her eyes.
Her eyes tell of a hidden story.
within its pages, the book in her eyes contains the terrors and pains that haunt her.
so many tears shed, within its bindings, oceans cried and poured out, drowning anyone who dare try to read and understand her story.
Her eyes.
Her eyes have seen things that would make the average person lose the will to live, seen things that could make you cry.
But dare not cry for her, for she blames herself. she doesnt want your pity or sympathy.
She accepts the love she thinks she deserves, and at the moment it's none.
Her eyes.
Her eyes pierce through those she thinks might hurt her.
paranoid, panicked, she uses her coldness as a shield and armor, letting no one in.
Her eyes.
Her eyes wont let you in.
Too many people have left her, why let another tragic ending begin?
Her eyes.
Her eyes trust no one, and fear a great deal.
She hates her self, her body, nothing is real.
Her eyes.
Her eyes are tired.

She wears an armor of secrets and stories.
Staying safe, toying with truth.
Forger of fact and fiction.
Protector of her thoughts, hers to own,to share or to keep.
The keeper of secrets. a safety net?

The invisible scars that she carries can be blinding.
Scars from infancy with no conscious memories.
Inflicted by a thoughtless mother, too self-absorbed to realize the impact her senseless acts would leave on my beautiful child.
Your actions filled her with distrust, now she distrusts me.
Your actions filled her with fear, now she is consumed with fears.
Your actions made her feel unloved, now she cannot feel my love.
Your actions made her feel unworthy, now she questions her true value and identity.
You asked me not to judge you, and to walk in your shoes.
I so wish i could have walked in your shoes for 15 months. then my daughter would know love, trust, and self worth. She would be afraid of the monsters under her bed and in her closet, not the monsters that robbed her of the basic needs, safety, security, and love that all children deserve and need.
If only i could go back and walk in your shoes. Then the invisible scars would not blind me with their redness. If only i could erase the invisible scars that continue to haunt my daughter.

I cant help but cry myself to sleep tonight,
for another customer lays asleep at my right.
When will this life of terror end?
In the brothel no one is your friend.
Used at night and tortured by day,
nothing at all will ever make this pain go away.
The owners convince us we owe them some debt,
but who am i to argue? i have no fight left.
Each night,fifty,sixty, men or more,
do they know that they hurt me?
or am i just a common *****?
i know my place and when to speak and behave.
But to them, and even to me,
im just a worthless *** slave.

Where i go she does not follow,
she sits on the couch full of sorrow.
with a needle aimed at her wrist,
she sits and sits and sits and sits.
making sure no one disturbs her,
she beats them until they're black and blue.
broken ribs and arms, oh the pain.
but from this she does not gain.
people, strangers, enter our home,
they take us away,
they leave her alone.
"mom!" i scream but my voice is hollow,
for where i go she does not follow.

There were tears in my eyes as I sat down to write this poem. I thought of all the times we shared, memories we made, and promises we kept. You were mine and I was yours, and the thought of anyone breaking up was absurd because we were together.
Blinded by love, we couldn’t see the mass destruction of our own souls and wellbeing.  We were so entangled and enveloped in each other we didn’t notice anything going on around us. We died inside of each other. Breathing in new particles of old limbs, memories, and mistakes, building ourselves anew with the ashes of what we were.
Like the phoenix we burned bright. A crimson red, we burned. Melting and fusing into one. One heart, one mind, one body, one soul.
And what were we left with? Cinders from the fire leaping out, touching the ones we loved and touched, and leaving them with the unintentional scars of our love. Do we really mean to hurt the ones we love, when all we are doing is becoming the person we think deserves someone else’s love? If we are who we are, then who are we? Are we the people we want to be? Or are we the people we told ourselves we would never become? Disappointment passed down through the lines, telling us we will never be what we expected.
No map just mazes. And it’s our responsibility to find our own way out. If we stumble upon someone to help us through the maze, we have found love. But only will that love be real and true, if you make it out of the maze. Leaving behind old partners for new versions of the people they could have been.
This maze is never ending. This maze is life.

Boy meets girl,
Girl meets boy.
His heart a temple,
Her heart a toy.
She thinks yes,
He thinks no.
She says stop,
He says go.
He plays with her heart like a childhood toy,
She cries for hours about the stupid boy.
She calls two times,
He texts her back.
He wants her gone,
She wants him back.