My hood was
            my graveyard...

They'll not remember me,
               as bones feed roses...

I jested,
           then you showed
           me your point.

Bleeding sarcasm,
               I died with a smile
on your face.

Eating every petal,
tasting falsehoods
               of what they meant.

Every thorn crushed in
our last meal,
           hoping shards
cut deeply on the misconstrued
                 hope you would ******* pain.

Why did you let it carry on so long,
knowing it was the corrupted wrong
                                                     of love.
Not was meant to be shown the way
it collected on a pillow of white sorrows.

What should of happened!!!
      Grabbing that toy next to you,
jagged part lunged into  a jugular
  of his regret. No sorrow only his
flooding over me..  
                            and I smile its over.

But in reality I took the beating of his
                                 inconsistent rage....
If words were weapons I'd have given
                  him two hollow points to the chest.

But I was young, innocent for so long...
                  Trauma buried till tracks bled my pain.
            Misunderstood stones swallowed in a pool
                            that I wanted to drown silently in.


I awoke years later knowing I wasn't the
                            tool of his anger, just a vessel
                                                to put pain upon.
Sorrow made me stronger than even I knew.

More than yesterday, Im stronger not weaker
than when I was innocent. I hold no jest..
The past is a reflection and mine shines brighter.

The Petals that had to grow
through the poverty of life's
                        oncrete hardship.

Never looking below the infertile
          words that never gave it the
          time to breath. To reach what
was before it, breaking before its hardships.

They thought we were weeds, cracking through
             afflictions that never showed our beauty.

Adolescent roots never showing the potential.
                  But as we grew, we flourished before you.
We showed our worth, blooming before the haters,
              shining beneath the blandness of yesterday.


But now where showing colours beneath us dull.
                        Were unlike the reality that was expected.
Showing that when there is weight upon us we
can still grow and show where more that what was below.

Treading on the fallen echoes
                      of silence that no
                   longer tread on the
              ground, only imprints
             of what was yesterday.

There was a stead, rag and bones
                      showing its last gasp.
                         falling silent before
                         its unrested silence.
Now white tombs show its resting.



Nothing else matters,
                only the wind sings between
                its memory, chimes of agony
                through hollow moments now
                remember its cruel resting place.