Men they call them,
I have a different name.
I find myself scoffing at the dark,
At hands that rough themselves
Against me,
At prowling fingers pulling leaves
As they go.
Perhaps they have yet to learn,
That is it better to nurture
Than to maim.
Watering my roots will make me
Grow taller and prouder,
To take pieces, branches,
Stunts my growth,
The leaves will only decay soon anyway.
I’m learning quickly,
To be alone is better than in bad company.
I am longing for those days
I stop chasing after bad men.
It’s like running towards the knife
Instead of away from it.
I have a habit of sacrificing myself
To these men,
Like I am the devils conquest.
I’ve become a mad woman
Trying to find someone who cares enough
To learn all my crevasses.
I keep telling myself
That I will forget them,
One day my eyes won’t stare
Watering into the dark,
My fists as tight as my stomach.
I will fall asleep peacefully in arms
That water me with potential.
I want physical comfort to be
Meaningful again.