There are those that find themselves,
many times over,
in situations of abuse.

A pattern, repeated time and time again.
The victim doesn’t understand.
The blame must be hers.
Stupid, stupid girl.

After the abuse,
the bruises are gone,
and the sore places on her body have healed.

But she is left with the humiliation,
the shame,
the filth.
That sticks to her body like ****.

She believes she is the essence of filth.
So she separates her body from her heart.


For protection.

it's a **** good thing
that my thighs are big enough
to handle all of your *******

He slapped her
Hard
She lay on the Dirt floor until she heard His footsteps disappear
into the Safety of their bedroom.

She looked up at Her yellowbrown walls.
“I should really repaint them”
They reminded her of Summer
and she hated Summer.

She wanted to cry,
but didn’t.
She wanted to call Them,
but couldn’t.

After all, this was only His First time
She climbed into their yellowbrown bed
which matched the yellowbrown walls
and yellowbrown fridge
which was specifically color coordinated with
the yellowbrown drapes that she had Loved so much.
She fell a sleep,
her warmish body pressed against His.
His being as hot as Summer.
She hated Summer.

She Loved him.
He Loved her.

He a pologized.

She thought it would Never happen a gain.
Never A nother time.
A nother cycle.
Repetition
  Repetition
   REPETITION
Over and over and over and over and over and over and over A gain.

She began to flood her river onto her too pink Cheeks
Slowly Choking to Death on her own
Self pity and Shame
And all he could do was grant her a hug of Darkness
as she quietly Drowned
After all, this was only his Ninth time.

She still hated Summer

And she still Loved him
He Loved her.

She fingered her bruises
like a well cherished Friend.
Gingerly
Carefully
Lovingly

She refused to buy him another Beer.
She thought he might Stop.
He didn’t.
He Con tinued
To De stroy
PERFECTION

They reported His Death.
She stood in front of grayblack coffin,
Her river Flowed faster and faster down
her emaciated Cheeks and onto His tombstone.
Faster and faster still
until she had to break the cool, cold surface
just to Find her own Humanity.

She still Loved him.
He must still Love her.

Her Mind began to drift.
Is there a God?
A man maybe,
with a long beard and a Wise and Kind face.
She had seen Him on TV.
Some kind of Religious channel about the story of Jesus.
She thought she would
Like to be like Jesus.

She made sure the rope was Tight.
The chair was just tall Enough to reach
with the Ends of her toes. She privately smiled
That Smile to herself.
As if she were sharing a Private joke.
And she was the Only one
who really knew the punch line.
The yellowbrown room was Hot.
As Hot as Summer.
She hated Summer.

She Jumped.
The rope was Tight.
It didn’t take long.
She was just trying to get to that Better place.
The Place where a TV God
with a long beard and a Kind face
would welcome her with the sharpness of a knife.
A Place where there was no Shame,
no yellowbrown fridge
that was carefully color coordinated
with the yellowbrown drapes,
no Summer,
no Private jokes,
no Imperfections,
and no Rivers.

A place of Peace.
Where there were no other bluepurplegray galaxies in the Universe
other than Him and Her.

Because she Loved him.
He Loved Her.

I stood in the dark hallway
Looking at the shroud of faces
Staring back.

If I were different
I could’ve sworn these faces
Belonged to actual people.

They watched as I walked
Beady eyes following every movement I made
Down to the slight movement of my stomach
That came with every sharp breath.

Their shiny covers were emotionless
Not a single expression was known
To the blank canvas.

The rain poured outside
Creating shimmery puddles in the ruts of the ground
And a dark shroud of a face
Looked up from the water.

It saw through my eyes
It breathed with my mouth
And for a second I pretended I didn’t see the shiny exterior
Covering all emotions.

For a moment
For one precious moment
I could pretend that the mask in the water
Wasn’t mine.

I see you
Brown haired, bubbly, bursting
With energy that threatens to come loose
Like a champagne cork
On the edge of an overflowing bottle

It has always remained a mystery to me
How these bright-eyed beauties
Are as unknown to us
As we are to ourselves

She doesn’t truly know herself, you see
And leaves her sweet-smelling hair
To the task
Of keeping you away
From the treasure in her mind

There is never a proper description for her
So “high maintenance” is used to fill the void
Produced by the simplest of minds
As an excuse for their lack of imagination

Is she difficult?
Desirable?
Or simply distant?

There is no answer to the wondrous question
So her heart will stay locked up forever.

She wouldn’t have it any other way.

is it my best interest to help you?
or your best interest to take me for granted?

Can you hear the gunshots?
The bang of a bullet shooting through the air
to strike someone with a life,
a house,
a family.

Can you see the pain?
The endless torment of men being beaten,
women being *****,
children being shot.

Can you hear the bombs dropping?
the screams of innocent families trying,
fighting,
clawing for their lives.
As the battle rages.

Can you taste the blood?
The taste of innocent people who have died here without a cause,
without a single chance,
without a single goodbye.

Can you smell the dust?
The dirt that flies from the soldiers’ feet as they jump over the bodies.
The unidentified shells of humans who were just trying to live;
to survive.

Can you hear the prayers?
The sound of good men who value religion over their own life.
Who believe that there is a god somewhere who can save them,
as they are executed one by one.

Can you feel the suffering?
As you sit by and watch from a distance,
because you’re too scared,
too troubled,
too damaged,
to face the war.