I have spoken
too hard, too much,
I can't feel my face anymore.

I am a fighter.
My fist aren't
as powerful
as my mouth
(as much as i'd like them to be)
so I swing my tongue to
form out syllables,
instead of my arm.

Unfortunately for you,
I can't fight who I am.

I am not a dog who
will roll over for you,
then expect you
to throw me a bone.

I am not a woman
you will pressure into silence.

I am not a person,
you will force to conform.

You scream
your injustices
around me and

I disagree
I fight back.
I don't back down.

I don't apologize for it.

My lips stand
so badly beaten,
blood fills cracks
of my dry lips,
but I'd say
it was worth it.

I'd take
a couple of napkins of
soaked blood
over submission
to wrong doing
Anytime.

i imagine that you're dead. i imagine that you're laying in a ditch, rotting. it's just easier that way. it's easier for me to believe you've died than to face the harsh reality that you're never coming back. you're gone. if i was honest with myself, i'd stop imagining and notice the new people in your life. how you tense up when i see you because now i write poetry and drink tea and hate myself. we used to do that together, hate ourselves. we used to fit, nail and hammer. at one point, you couldn't push me down further so you left. you became a ***** driver, ******* me over, ******* others over, until there's nothing i can do to help. i don't tell my therapist this. how i've stopped becoming a nail and become someone different. reading poems that don't rhyme anymore because they fit  too well together. i've become a *****. i keep other people together while they ***** me over. i look for broke people and fix them before i fix myself because i'll probably always be like this, this tool for people to use until i stop working or break, but at least they're a little more together than before they met me. i wish i could be honest and tell myself you aren't ever going to change, and blame me for leaving. I wish I could, but i can't.

""It's weird, you know. Meeting all the requirements for living things, but not feeling like it. You tell yourself just breathe, breathe in an out, in and out, until you can do it without reminding yourself. I find it amazing. What makes us human? Genetically, trillions of things, but what makes us separate from all these 'wild animals'? Compassion? Compromise? I haven't seen that in years. At least not in genuine fashion. Those all come at a cost. Everyone wants something in return for it. I think that's what fuels my fire, knowing everything comes at a price."
"Love comes at no cost" she'd say.
"Love comes at the highest cost: there is expected love in return. There, you are expected to keep living, breathing. They want you around, even if you don't want to be there yourself. That's the cost of living and love. Doing more than just existing in this world, even if it's just for others sake.""

"Everyone goes one way or another"

I don't think this is what you meant it like that;
I don't think you even knew I was listening.
I guess we both misunderstood the situation.