I am
Utterly
Petrified
To open the graves
Of my past hidden in
The deepest part of my being.

For I
Am
Petrified
Once they are out
I won’t be able to rebury
Them before they consume me.

I am
Utterly
Petrified
To release the words
Of which have become rusted
Barbed wire imbedded in my throat.

For I
Am
Petrified
During their release
I will find those words have
Sewn themselves into my tattered soul.


I am
Utterly
Sure
I will not survive
The verbal barbed wire
Demolishing me on its way to freedom.

-ARI

I was so alive
Like a
Garden
Sweetly cared for.

I thought you planted
The sweetest
Flowers
As you gracefully entered my life

But I was so wrong, for
You were
Planting
Weeds with every step.

Slowly, I withered away
While you
Gleefully
Claimed what wasn't yours.

You demolished my every
Root of
Sanity
Until I was left lifeless.

You left me as a
Dying secret
Garden
Lost within myself.

-ARI

To forget
Your name
Your face
Your smile

 I want to Forget

Your hands
Wrapped around
My arms as if you
Owned  ME.

I WANT TO FORGET

Your voice
Ripping through
My once innocent  mind
Scarring me forever

But I Remember

Your hands
Pushing me to
My knees because
You "deserved  it"

I remember

One ***** hand
Over my mouth
The other
Bruising my leg

I will always remember

My trembling  voice
BEGGING you
To STOP but
YOU didn't want to.

-ARI

You
Were broken
And I spent
Countless hours
Collecting the shards
Of your shattered soul
From the impact
Of a death.
You
Were sobbing
In a heap of
Bloodied tissues
And I was there silently
Destroying evidence of
Your depression
Induced self hate
As I held you closely.
You
Were a gnarled
Garden of lost
Beauty and I
Was there to rid you
Of the invasive weeds
Happily devouring
The life in your veins
Leaving you to die.
But
I was left with
Bleeding hands from
The shards of your soul
Razors sinking in my skin
From your example of
"Release"
The weeds of depression
Strangling me and all I needed was
You.

But you never came.

-ARI

I find it funny
To be called a poet
When often times
I cannot sew together
A simple sentence
To explain to you
The anxiety drilling
Holes deep within
My bones of which
Often feel non-existent.

I find it funny
To be called a wife
When often times
I cannot collect
The energy to make
A simple dinner
Meant for two
Or wash and fold
The laundry now
Two weeks past due.

I find it funny
To be called a friend
When often times
I cannot pick up
My phone for
Even a simple
Message to let you
Know I love you
Even if it may seem
Like I avoid you.

I find it funny
To be called funny
When often times
I am the **** of my
Own jokes and they
Have no clue that
To me, I am stating
Simple facts with
A hint of laughter
To keep from crying.

-ARI