Till Death Do us Part:
By Bleeding Diamonds.
Marriage
Supposed to be the best day of our life.
Lovers hand in hand
trust stronger than the land
But after a year,
You’ve got to wonder
Is this marriage going south?
Am I scared to open my mouth?
You may start to learn
Things get bad.
Your spouse may hit you, beat you, and taunt you.
The may say they're sorry
but just wait
when everyone stops watching;
things just go back to the way they were.
That ring you wear shows the pain
and with every "I love you"
wounds open.
The emotional warfare rings on.
Those three words,
which should mean exactly as they say,
become an expectation,
you wouldn’t dare not say it back.  
Counseling is suggested,
but sorry to tell you,
some people don't change
They like to stick to their ways,
never admit wrong,
No, they never listen to the world's sad song
and blame everyone else for their problems.
How sad it must be
to be waiting for death to due you part
rather than to face the humiliation of divorce.
God pins you down saying, "You committed!"
God holds you accountable,
you are expected to stay with the "one"
but the "one" is the one who causes you pain.
The pain
people just don't see
Marriage isn't always bad
See, some marriages really are perfect,
life in the Barbie Dream House,
perfect spouse,
perfect kids,
perfect house,
Perfect car,
perfect job
perfect everything
But,
this poem is not about them.
This poem is about the marriages where abuse
has become a household term.
Kids expect mommy and daddy to be perfect,
after all
on Disney Channel they are
It’s sad how we are forced to look at statistics,
1 in 4 women will experience domestic abuse in their life time.
Men are victims of nearly 3 million physical assaults in the USA.
These things exist,
right in our own backyard.
Around the corner,
and down the block.
It’s almost like a don't ask, don't tell policy,
It’s like,
if you've been hit,
its "get over it"
and
"stop being dramatic"
"It could be worse"
But the thing is,
getting abused is not a good feeling.
It affects your body,
your mind,
and your soul
to the point where being broken is an everyday occurrence.
Abuse is abuse,
it doesn't matter what your excuse is.
It is never okay.

Love shouldn’t be fear
It should flow.
One to another.
It should be wonderful.
Love shouldn’t have to hide.
It should abide with life.
Pain was never meant for a couple.
Fists should not overtake kisses.
Love shouldn’t be shoved inside a closet,
Just waiting to be forgotten.
Love is beginning to lose its meaning.
Abuse has taken over a lot of people’s lives and relationships
Parents and children
Husbands and wives.

But, who knew it could all start,
when you gave your word,
you would stay
"Till death do us part"

you tell me you are just like everyone else.
and yeah, maybe you are
You tell me that you aren't the only one to yell.
also true
But what you fail to realize:
1. Most people do not torture their children
you have
2. Most people do not demote existence
you have
3. Most people think that injustice is real
you dont
4. Most people care about their family, and their emotions
you never have
5. Most people care about equality
you do not
6. Most people appreciate what they have
you think people owe you everything
7. Most people know what abuse is
you think everything is justified
8. Most people support their family
you have only brought us down
Look,
I know you can't be perfect.
But you have gone so far down.
You have shown me
how to be better than you.
You swear that when I have children,
I will be "just like you"
However,
my patience is more,
my love is more,
my passion is more.
You have taught me how to be nothing like you.
your own daughter,
says I am better than you.
Well,
maybe so
What you fail to realize:
**I am nothing like you

they make goodbyes
sound easy
when they're at your door
late at night
and they scream your
name like a warning
from the bottom
of the staircase
you leave them,
until apologies make
your tongue as raw as
saw-dust
those nameless boys
the one's with
smoky breath,
they write your name
to the skies
constellate it to their
forefingers and cross it
over their forehead
like a baptism
those boys with hands
that eat like worms
at the dying heart
of your feelings
no, they don't love you
only death can
love you,
nameless girl
with the
countless faces.

Abandon.

Such a beautiful thing is a shell,
floating it sings 'tho half-empty,
sculptured for strength in excess
of accents or patterns an ecstasy
with wave-lovers has undressed
its close-partnered togetherness.

Oh shell of beauty, gone forever
your wholeness but in a sea-bed
still white your glisten measures
pace with the breakers in restless
dance of sheer abandon even yet.

You can’t ask me what is wrong,
because it’s always something different.
You can’t ask me why I’m acting this way,
because I can’t explain it.

I will tell you I love you,
and for a while my voice
will echo back the stone walls
of your throat,

and then I’ll find myself alone
in a taunting, repeating cave that lies.
It doesn’t matter that you say you love me,
or that I believe it.

My love is strong and deep and fiery;
it imprints itself like a brand on my own flesh.
I imprinted on you, like a mother duck to her
babe, or maybe it goes the other way.

You can’t ask yourself what went wrong
unless you want to come down with
me, briefly, into my net of nonsense
and mental illness.

There you’ll find my mother,
and the time in the first grade
when I was molested,
and the time I stepped on an ant

and cried for ten minutes.
Listen.
I am a wave, an ocean wave.
I crash and roar, I nurture and heal,
and tear myself down
every time I breach.
I will take you in my warm
embrace, and we will for a while
float, but the time
will come
when I will have to drag
you against the glass-sharp pebbles
at my gargantuan belly.

sad boy with crisp collar, good grades
he is handsome, his hands become loose before he will notice

time has told me that some places stay the same
i forgot his name, but he dressed in corduroy and
his mind was woven in brassy string
that day, clouds fused with sunshine in the last hours
they kissed the ground, soft and wet.
there's a sound that belongs to you; there's
a sound that maybe a bit of you resides within.
lost for words? yes, i am, but not too many
people are, right?
i pick a new flower for you each time one withers into death,
in the end you have a bouquet that would hold itself
together only with dry stems
and hopeful thought.

Morning breeze
Rustle of leaves
Feet intertwined

Smell of pancakes
Hot coffee
Lips that inch away with mine

Comforting duvet
Soft pillows
Fingers tracing patterns on my cheek

Sun rays
Brush of your breath
"Wake up beautiful"

Opening my eyes thinking,
'I would never wanted to wake up with someone else, just you.'