i'm not too sure what it is about him that makes me want to stay
but i have held on too him for quite some time,
his mother doesn't like me like she liked her...
but that's okay because
her son is the air i breathe
the reason i am still here so don't you tell me
that we are a fatal combination
that this is puppy love
that my mouth never danced with his
that my bruises are made an art form when his hands touch me
that the dirt under my fingernails was for nothing
i hold on to him because he subsides my grip
because he is made of his father
the same father who beats his mother
the same father who looks for himself at the bottom of the bottle
the same man my love looks at every morning before he leaves
the same man who is molding himself into barbwire
but my love?
he is picket fence
he is the breeze before the storm
he is the laugh before the joke,
my love is nothing like his parents,
and God forbid they were once like us.