In rising
rush, rush
rushing up
and with barely time to collect
I fall.

Fear at first rushes
wide & consumes
with every new cresting

But slowly, I accept
and embrace
this wild turbulence
that awakens
every molecule of my being.

*I am alive.

the soul reels
against the borders of body
as i am reduced
again
and again
to elegant explosions

the driving,
   pulling
      merging
of flesh
upon flesh
melts thought
and i'm caught
in the now

now -

Now -

NOW

*and i'm gone...

It was painful
i will admit…
feeling so cold
so raw
like a carcass in a meat locker

Desperately craving his warmth,
but finding a chilly resistance instead
I shrunk back -
unsure...

Feeling terribly alone there…
in the dark,
listening,
listening,
to the deafening silence...

My forgiveness
     will not come from you -
     smiling, snake tongued
     liars.

     With your holier than thou eyes.
     and bitter hearts.

For now, I only ask it
     of myself.
For my fumblings, my fears -
     as I begin again.

"I love him"
hit like creation in a particle collider.

Not the words or motions,
just a big, deep, gut punch -
all of a sudden
free falling.

And i'm elated, excited
and ******* terrified.
As I flail, clumsily
in my fall.

Taunted by
the sharp what-ifs & maybes
that litter the ground
But he whispers
"baby, we're not going down"

Now i'm clinging
to this new air/warmth/light,
but afraid that i'm gonna cling
too tight

I just got a little panicked
love, when it hit
you kind-of exploded me,
a bit.

the light of his eyes
challenges and dares
the wild haired girl inside
that she thought had died

so long ago

and smiling eyes
bring the uncensored grins
of a once brazen soul

his hands granting reprieve
from the cold -
and finally,
She feels.

He makes me want to be brave again.

it was always a roller coaster
turbulent and gut wrenching
highs and lows

Always a state of ready.
ready for the dark to come home.
ready for the criticism,
ready for the down,
ready for the accusations,
ready for the threats,
ready for the blame.

Of course I detached.
And the farther I got - the darker He
became.

while THINGS got smashed, punched, crushed -
love and trust were destroyed. Softer parts of Me
learned to flinch
(love should never make you flinch in fear)
and quickly built walls of defense.

quietly making promises to my little voice…
if he threatens me once more...
if he punches the wall once more...
if he hurts me…
if he hurts me…
if he hurts me…

No. I wanted to make this pretty, but I just can't.
I wanted to make a beautiful poem of waking and finding my way back - but I can't yet. Its all a ****** dark mess of anger and shame. Seeking some sort of forgiveness, forgiveness from who?
I won't ever ******* go back, do you understand that? Can any words even come close to expressing the depth of that pit I was in? I don't miss it. I don't secretly need it. I still don't know how I got into or out of it.

Yes, he ******* hurt me. OF COURSE I DETACHED. HE tried to ******* destroy me. Intentionally or not - He tried to destroy me - this one life I have. All that I AM. Me, Devon. For every drop I offered, he took a gallon. Yes he ******* hurt me. Your precious son, brother, father, friend. Smashed ****, in front of our child, punched holes into EVERY ******* DOOR in that house, pulled the emergency brake on the freeway at 80 mph with our daughter in the car, and then called me abusive when I slapped him on the shoulder hysterically for it. He kicked and threatened to **** my dog, shoved me and slammed me into walls. Night, after night, after night - denied sleep because I didn't want to **** him and if he couldn't sleep then why the **** should I? But how could I want someone I loathed, inside of me? Constantly  accused of ******* someone else and told that I was as lesbian for not wanting him. **** him. **** him. **** him.

Worse - I am the one ASHAMED of myself. Ashamed that I could not fix it, that I could not give him what he wanted. Ashamed that it took me so long. Ashamed that I am no longer capable of compassion for an obviously sick man that I think (I think but can't recall now)  I loved once. Ashamed that I ignored my own little voice. Ashamed that my daughter has seen so much weakness in her mother and so little of what love should be.

Now I am vilified for lack of compassion - for "giving up" as they say.
For Hurting Him. Because I. Hurt. Him.

And that, is not a pretty feeling.
It's ******* ******* - hissing, high pressure, rocking-back-ready-to-blow, ******* feeling. Scribbled and incoherent, shredded paper & canvas, ****** knuckles, red-faced, spit-flying feeling.

No. It is not pretty.