I was raised with one hand
firmly gripping my neck.
Not enough to choke,
but just enough to scare.
One wrong move and
He could snap my neck.
One split second of insubordination-
And death.
He occasionally squeezed too hard-
blamed it on his stress.
Gasping for air is the only
Memory I have of him.

No abuse to report,
No marks or scars except the ones on my heart.
I cried alone at night so
No one could hear.
I smiled through the pain
and hid every tear.
Threats were daily and
Love disappeared.
The child I was,
No longer appeared.

Each year I grew older,
His grip would tighten.
Shackling me to his commands and
Endless profanities.
I was told to toughen up,
But my heart was wilder than he could tame.

Shorter breaths and more tears-
Years and years of silence.
Waiting for the perfect time
To stand up and say,
"Good riddance"

Every day it gets closer now,

To the day I'll break his hands.

our bread and butter...
     the web of stars,
     the scatter of moons
     and orbiting planets.
the entire universe
harvested and crammed
into the metre,
of a poetic verse.

our bread and butter...
     harnessing the regal rays of the sun.
     inflating the fluff of quiet clouds.
     drinking up the winds of the weather.
     revering the magic in the flight of birds.
we fill our cups to the brim...
with fantastical dreams
and let spill
over parchment
the cornucopia of idealised words.

our bread and butter...
the incessant peeling and picking
on healing wounds.
of which we have learnt to savour...
     let bleed
     the willing blood...
     feed the seeds
     with impending flood.
nurture to fruition
thoughts stunted in discretion.
bring to light
thoughts hidden in the nether.

our bread and butter...
we dip...
the nibs,
of our word worn feathers.
let them sink,
shallow beneath the surface
to the sanctity of a familiar place.
     *casting our trials,
     and tribulations...
     pent up emotions,
     and what we think
     unto paper
     with the burn of
     everlasting ink.

I used to think of my parents as divorced.

Legally, they were not. They lived in the same house, had the same last names, and on every legal document it stated that they were married.

Though it did not feel like that.

They lived in the same house, but they did not share the same bed. They had the same last names, but their morals were so different they seemed like strangers. They were technically married, but it felt as if they have been divorced for years.

As a child this brooding question had been lingering in my mind that has yet to be answered.

Why do people stay when they are supposed to leave?
Or why do people leave when they are supposed to stay?

I asked my mother why she did not leave my father yet, and she said it was because of my siblings and I. Though, the way she said it seemed as if it was an excuse for something bigger. Every time I would push her to answer my question, she would scold me for being too curious and repeat the same saying , “Curiosity killed the cat,”.
But I was not a cat. I was a confused child who has been through too many years of her parents fighting for no reason or too many reasons.

I grew older, my parents were still together, and the question still never left my mind. Before I knew it, relationships were sprouting all around me. All my friends changed their relationship statues to Taken, my sister started talking about boys more often, and every question out of everyone’s mouth was who was single and who was on the market. It sounded as if everyone became merchants waiting eagerly until a new, rare, product was in stock.

Of course, people fell out of relationships, and I realized it was the same way of falling out of love. It’s just as easy as falling in it, and thats what people are afraid of. I started asking around my question again.

Why do people stay when they are supposed to leave?
Why do people leave when they are supposed to stay?

And the answer remained in the format of excuses. It was always because of someone else leaving first, or the usual “thats just how things are,”response. It was so frustrating.

Out of bitter frustration, I decided to figure it out myself. I allowed myself to become very close with once a mutual friend. We shared secrets and told each other embarrassing stories we never told anyone before. We went out of our way just to see each other and even called each other Soul Mates. I found myself forgetting that this was all an experiment, and started to believe that we were, in fact, Soul Mates. We started to talk about getting into the same colleges, and moving in with each other while in college and after. We started planning road trips that would take two months and even introduced ourselves to each others parents.

Then that person left. Just as easily as they came.

It took me by sudden surprise, and I became immobilized for a while due to shock. I realized that it hurt, giving all of yourself to someone and letting them walk away with all you gave them as if you’re just a nostalgic memory, or a forgotten trinket. My question surfaced again, with much more rage and hurt this time.

Why do people stay when they are supposed to leave?
Why do people leave when they are supposed to stay?
Why do people leave?
Why do people always leave?

In my final conclusion of my hypothesis, I have realized that people leave because they were not supposed to stay in the first place. Everyone and Everything is temporary. I do not think the point of life is to find your soul mate. I do not think its to find someone to spend your whole life with. I think its to try and change every persons life you encounter with. It does not have to be nuclear, it could be really subtle. But change it in some way, for the better hopefully.

I think my parents are staying together for the better. I hope so, at least.

You want me to open up to you,
But where to begin...
With the memories that scare me at night
Or the scars on my skin?
I could tell you of pain
That you've watched on a screen
And tell you it's real
Because it happened to me..
Or I could let you into my mind
And open up Pandora's box
Secrets that nobody wants to hear
My deepest regrets and thoughts...
My hardest lessons learned
And the dreams I once had
Stories of my happiest moments with him
That now just drive me mad.
How much is too much to know?
What's the price on a painful memory?
Is there anything I could do or say
That would make you turn away from me?
Would you listen then forget?
Would your eyes see someone new?
These are all questions I need answered
Before I can feel comfortable opening up to you.

I find it hard to keep my head on the level
          Keep thinking,
waiting for the second I lose my mental
     Missing some thoughts about you
Memory got shot, a drive-by from what the last guy put me through
     And some of the blood left a few stains
Bruises and scars but it ain't the same thang
            The marks everyone else can see ain't nothing compared to the rips and tears deep inside of me
       The stains on my soul turning what used to make me whole
          into something ***** and cold
      No amounts of bleach or scrubbing can make me forget
Nothing can help me escape from
             the laundry list of regrets
It beats me up inside,
       causes more, new and fresh bruises
               with every nightmare
And no matter how many dreams I have between,
         I can't seem to get there
To that place of no longer looking back,
            of thinking about the past
Cause some trauma tends to define
      what your **happiness lacks

I keep searching for you everywhere

I don't remember where I saved those old pictures
And sometimes you're asleep when I want to talk
     But when I look inside my heart, where all my love is kept

I've found that you *completely fill it up

I've been looking for you all around

I can't find you in old photographs
And sometimes I can't reach you by phone
    But when I look in the mirror and see my smile

*I know I've found you

you are too familiar with yourself
with your face
your body
your beauty

your reflection is an image skewed from being seen by
your same eyes too often
your confidence is a locked box you keep in the back of
your closet
your smile is more uncomfortable than it is curling and
you've grown to hate the large of your laugh

you are blind to almost all that you are

but just imagine,
for a second
what you look like
to someone who is a stranger

you could be their textbook definition of ideal
their exact description of beautiful and
you wouldn't even know it

imagine for a moment
how your greatness might resonate
with someone who has never been close to that much at once

there have been people in your life who
have attempted to break you into smaller pieces
crush you from whole so you would be easier to swallow

there will always be some who will be unable to see your worth
others who wont be able to handle you
maybe they'll see too much and try to shrink you into less
with the hopes of becoming more themselves

you build yourself quieter each time that you do
you know how to shy away from the prescence of light and
you've settled comfortably in the shadow of day

but there is someone out there waiting to hear your loud
a blank canvas ready to be filled with all of your paint
you will be the exact shade they have spent their entire life trying to find

and when they do
you'll remember that there was a time
before you were taught to see dark
when you could see all of your colors clear
without trying