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Delyla Nunez Feb 24
Happiness.
Serenity.
Peace.
All those qualities I deserve from someone other than myself.

Good memories.
Laughing all day and night.
Never time to think negative.
Every one of these actions I deserve from someone other than myself.

No longer will I feel worthless.
Despite where I’m at.
Hopefully this is my knight.
Fingers crossed this is right.
He said to not worry about it. That this time he’ll hold me up. I said okay.
kmr Mar 2020
I’m standing here
Naked and bare
To you
And to the world.
I haven’t been ready.
I’ve been dancing in meadows
With my eyes shut tight
And covering myself
In hand-me-down clothes.
But I’m not dancing anymore.
I’ve shed the scraps
Of ripped up cloth
And my skin
Along with them.
My eyes are open.
I’m listening now.
I’m ready to see
What you have
To show me.
I’m ready to hear
What you have
To tell me.
Gemini Dec 2017
When the sky grows dark,
and the sun falls away.
The moon rises high -
planning to stay.
The stars shine brightly,
inviting all eyes
as the darkness takes over
the city tonight

But fear not,
for soon the moon will stray,
as the sun rises again,
bringing the day;
again we’ll see
the beginning, again.
And again we’ll walk
in the light of the day.
Oof again.
Devon Oct 2014
it was always a roller coaster
turbulent and gut wrenching
highs and lows

Always a state of ready.
ready for the dark to come home.
ready for the criticism,
ready for the down,
ready for the accusations,
ready for the threats,
ready for the blame.

Of course I detached.
And the farther I got - the darker He
became.

while THINGS got smashed, punched, crushed -
love and trust were destroyed. Softer parts of Me
learned to flinch
(love should never make you flinch in fear)
and quickly built walls of defense.

quietly making promises to my little voice…
if he threatens me once more...
if he punches the wall once more...
if he hurts me…
if he hurts me…
if he hurts me…

No. I wanted to make this pretty, but I just can't.
I wanted to make a beautiful poem of waking and finding my way back - but I can't yet. Its all a ****** dark mess of anger and shame. Seeking some sort of forgiveness, forgiveness from who?
I won't ever ******* go back, do you understand that? Can any words even come close to expressing the depth of that pit I was in? I don't miss it. I don't secretly need it. I still don't know how I got into or out of it.

Yes, he ******* hurt me. OF COURSE I DETACHED. HE tried to ******* destroy me. Intentionally or not - He tried to destroy me - this one life I have. All that I AM. Me, Devon. For every drop I offered, he took a gallon. Yes he ******* hurt me. Your precious son, brother, father, friend. Smashed ****, in front of our child, punched holes into EVERY ******* DOOR in that house, pulled the emergency brake on the freeway at 80 mph with our daughter in the car, and then called me abusive when I slapped him on the shoulder hysterically for it. He kicked and threatened to **** my dog, shoved me and slammed me into walls. Night, after night, after night - denied sleep because I didn't want to **** him and if he couldn't sleep then why the **** should I? But how could I want someone I loathed, inside of me? Constantly  accused of ******* someone else and told that I was as lesbian for not wanting him. **** him. **** him. **** him.

Worse - I am the one ASHAMED of myself. Ashamed that I could not fix it, that I could not give him what he wanted. Ashamed that it took me so long. Ashamed that I am no longer capable of compassion for an obviously sick man that I think (I think but can't recall now)  I loved once. Ashamed that I ignored my own little voice. Ashamed that my daughter has seen so much weakness in her mother and so little of what love should be.

Now I am vilified for lack of compassion - for "giving up" as they say.
For Hurting Him. Because I. Hurt. Him.

And that, is not a pretty feeling.
It's ******* ******* - hissing, high pressure, rocking-back-ready-to-blow, ******* feeling. Scribbled and incoherent, shredded paper & canvas, ****** knuckles, red-faced, spit-flying feeling.

No. It is not pretty.

— The End —