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He made sure I knew just how lucky I was to have him
But he never hit me
He played games with my emotions repeatedly
But he never hit me
He made sure I didn’t leave the house in a skirt above the knees
But he never hit me
He knew the words to say to make me feel so small that I could not breathe
But he never hit me
He tossed me in and out, in and out, until my mind was in an out of control tizzy
But he never hit me
He messed around on the side late at night while I rested in our bed
But he never hit me
He made it clear that I wasn’t to go out at night with the girls
But he never hit me
He told me over and over again just how hard it would be to find anyone else to deal with me
But he never hit me
He fell asleep safe and sound as I laid in bed trying to catch my breath through tears
But he never hit me
He needed to have the password to every device, app and account
But he never hit me
He knew the power he held and used it over my head to weaken me
But he never hit me
He made jokes at my expense in front of friends and family and we all giggled together instead of cringed
But he never hit me
He assured me the women he texted were coworkers or colleagues but I could never know what they spoke of
But he never hit me
He made it clear that my interests and goals were not of pertinence
But he never hit me
He knew the exact words to say to take my entire day downhill
But he never hit me
He broke my heart over and over and over again until it was minuscule shreds
But he never hit me
If you or someone you know is suffering from domestic abuse please contact 1-800-799-7233 this is the national domestic abuse hotline. Abuse can happen to anyone, man or woman. It does not make you weak to seak help. <3
 Oct 2017 madalynn rose
halsey
Dreams come alive
When I think of you.
 Oct 2017 madalynn rose
BR
You and I,
buried beneath the coruscated winter sky
In taciturn stillness,
half-enraptured by the unmasked glory,
and half by the unasked in the others eyes.

There is no time to hold us;

There is no other moment.

Volatile, visible breaths,
The almost- touch of our fingertips,
and the quiet intimacy of our insignificance against the endless, open sky.

You,
My darling,
and I.
 Oct 2017 madalynn rose
Elle H
I am sorry.
Sorry that I thought of you every second.
Sorry that I smiled every time I thought of you.
Sorry that I called every night to ask if you were okay.
Sorry that I texted you endless paragraphs about how much I adored you.
Sorry that I ever loved you.
I am so so sorry that I thought you loved me like I loved you.
We were everything till it became nothing.
3 hands


kidding hands,
an autocorrection title,
was supposed to be
kissing hands but either works

man overcome with an elixir of Sunday bed warming/charming/chilling, lukewarm "hot" coffee,
melodious love songs inducing
languorously hand-to-mouth,
five finger fore play love making

a potpourri of knuckle gnawing and gentling kisses
upon a hand borrowed from the a tablet holder,
while she reads the paper bemoaning the sorry state
of the world, the government permissions bad guys...
and weeps for the world we are leaving behind

a mood changer with 100% effectiveness

newspapers- a safe *** condiment

think I'll reheat my coffee

<•>

my hand

she cant sleep knows that I'm up at 2:08am composing.  
and showed her earlier today
the kidding hands poem
just as the lights were going down, downtown on
William's Measure For Measure

so at 2:09am her hand snakes over and wrap itself
around my thumb as if she was weaning an infant from
what infants like doing, or weaning grownup old men like me from doing at 2:09am, what they should be best leaving alone,
like writing poetry or it could just be the woman
pseudo-******* a poets thumb as a way of saying
can't sleep head buzzing and in between I love the
livening lying of living with your hands thumb in me

<•>
the facement of your hands*

dr. mandy is handy with a needling drink of boo boo bo-toxin
that auto corrects the face's reflecting times drawing upon it,
our bodies facement; an effacement I suppose, or maybe a
defacement.  

very little to be done to keep the *hands
couture covering
from revealing what devolutionary year it is for you: why I write of the facement of your hands and why I kiss them, your hands,
lovingly, hoping the natural  toxins on my lips can ****** their aging,
and if they can't, then it is a great way of saying
I love you

<•>
  2:53am
 Oct 2017 madalynn rose
Zee
22
 Oct 2017 madalynn rose
Zee
22
It seems slowly i'm learning who I am.
I am starting to love me.
Gave all my pieces
to all those who betrayed me
those who broke me.. again.. and again
those who loved to see me cry
I laid on the ground
so empty
so numb.
I had nothing left to give.
I had two options
Give up or build once again.
Oh how promising death seemed.
Peaceful.
Yet building myself is what I chose
Yet again.
I had to fight, and fight and fight
for me.
You gave up on me, yet I still believed in me
And here I am...
Built.
 Oct 2017 madalynn rose
Chloe
Self love.
Two words that are practically foregin to me.
I have never been known to love myself.
Someone is always better.
Thinner.
Smarter.
Prettier.
Always comparing myself.
Always self loathing.
I wanted to be better.
Thinner.
Smarter.
Prettier.
So I stopped eating and I stopped going out in public with no make up on.
And I pretended that I knew about all of these different places and things; even though I really had no interest in those things or places.
And I would go home and cry and I started leaving scars on my beautiful, clean skin.
Because no matter how much make up I put on my face,
Or how many days I went without a bite of food;
Or how many things I pretended to know;
I still wasn't better than someone else.
There was still always someone better.
And now I look at the body that I destroyed.
And my skin isn't beautiful and clean anymore.
And my teeth are stained yellow from all of the cigarettes.
And my eyes have dark circles under them from the nights I spent crying;
Trying so hard to be perfect.
And that's okay.
I am finally okay with not being perfect.
I am ready to love myself.
 Oct 2017 madalynn rose
anon
find my poems
in a hundred years
and analyze them
as though they are written
in a foreign language
from a foreign time
full of foreign ideas
and words

analyze the way i say
i'm sad

"the darkness outside
spills into my empty room
on a body
wracked with sorrow
but too proud to cry"

analyze the idea
that everything i write
means something else
and i am not just
too lazy for prose

interpret me needing to talk
as me creating allusions

say to my face that when i said

"i'm happy"

it was sarcastic irony that reflected
my inner turmoil

analyze my poem
that is free therapy
to mean something
i wrote just for you

it speaks to you because
my word choice
was simple
every day

it speaks to you because
my alliteration is
totally
on purpose

it speaks to you because
literary terms
speak to you
more than some words
that meant

"i'm sad"

analyze me
and look past my struggles
that don't fit your agenda

analyze me

i am poetry

my soul is poured out
in each of these lines
each letter is me

so analyze me
like one of your french girls

make me beautiful

make me something that is
not
desperate poetry

make me you

— The End —