keep your eyes closed love.

           e     t      
       m           i
    o                 m
s                        e  
                            s     all you have to
                                                                ­
                                                                ­ l                  to is what the sound
                                                           ­      i            n
                                                  ­                s           e
                                                               ­          t

                                                              ­                               v
                                                               ­                         a        e
                             ­                                          of the  w               s
                                                               ­                                       
                         ­                                                                 ­            tells  you
                                                                ­                                        to do.

Every man that I have ever let inside me is you,
Mom.
Every man that I have ever let see me,
touch me, open me up.
Expecting them to tear down the walls that are hundreds of feet high,
just to walk right through
as if my guarded heart is a sliding glass door.  
As if they can see right through my frame.
They see me: bold, opinionated, strong.
But They all have all looked right though me, and can see the little girl who wants to be loved.
They told me they loved me.
Touched the hidden places that have hurt to touch,
as if they knew exactly where they could be found.
Only to treat me like a warm body for their cold. Blood.
They take me as a shell.

Because, like you Mom, they exploit me.
Use my weakness in seeing good, reading what makes me tick,
Learn to gain my trust.
Just to abandon me.
Like you.

I have nothing to write now.
Because I’m grateful
To wake up most mornings
And not feel my chest constricted with hate.
For you, but mostly for myself.
My roots are pure and my flowers are blooming.
Nothing can stop me now.
(Not you, not myself)

I could not survive you again. 
Your storm ripped me limb from limb;
I was strewn about, losing pieces of myself in the wind.
 
Lightning struck: the blow of your hand on my cheek.
Black and blue cloud-shaped bruises,
thunder rippling underneath my skin.
 
I used to like the rain, but my heart was sopping wet and
you were mad because I needed the sun more
than I needed you.
 
I was ready for flowers
to be planted within me,
not to be constantly uprooted instead.
 
I gained strength and freed myself from you, 
but that also meant I finally gained the strength to let go of the worst parts of myself too.