Once upon a time a lovely maiden did her chores
She cooked and cleaned and washed and dried and wiped down all the floors
And though her Lord looked down at her, ironically this man
Would force himself upon her because when you’re Lord you think you can

He used her for his twisted games, he thought it was alright
Sadly she just let it be, so she could feed her son at night
And so it went for years and years, till finally one day
Her son grew up and saw the truth, saying that “this man must pay”

Despite his mother’s cries and pleas, the son could not forgive
He told her she deserved much more, this was not a way to live
His mom, you see, quick to agree, would never punish him
Her heart was her worst enemy, enabling Lord to live in sin

So the son approached the man, he stood much taller than Lord did
As the Lord said “hello boy, you’ve grown so much since just a kid”
“I know,” son said, “it must be strange, to be on the receiving end”
“Of the games you play at night, I bet your wife won’t comprehend”

“Won’t comprehend the things you do, to satisfy your appetite”
“I can’t imagine how a person does this and then sleeps at night”
“At least it doesn’t matter now, because I give what is deserved”
“What’s that,” you ask? “To be frank, I really hate to touch a nerve”

“But since we’re here I will be clear, this might begin to sting a bit”
“I’ve wanted this for oh so long, because you’re such a *******”
“It’s my turn now, so turn around, this will not end quick I must say”
“This won’t be fun, and when I’m done, this broomstick will make sure you pay”

their separation

was it 2nd grade, or maybe third?
was it the arguments, or maybe the new war?
was it the bad words, or perhaps the loud ones?

you involved a 3rd side, to a two-sided commitment.

why?

because you got tired after what?
17 years of fighting?

was that what forever meant to you?
17 years and a couple of months?
or did you think we weren’t worth fighting for?

was it a thrown away ring, or maybe you threw away the whole marriage?
it explains why you love running so much.
since instead of walking by our side, you ran away.

but I wonder, 10 years ago
were my tears not enough to keep u in such a commitment?
were my letters every night not enough of a reminder?
of how much love I had for you and my mother?

did that not have any impact on you? or was the package too good to refuse?
better than seeing my sister & I grow in front of your eyes,
better than being there for the family, that your majesty created.

it’s a little funny, you know?
10 years later, and I still
tear up thinking about you sleeping with a woman,
who doesn’t hold my mother’s name, features nor kindness.

I feel weak, yet strong because I have both of you.
empty, yet full because I hold your name. after mine.
poor, yet rich by knowing you will always be there for her.
broken, yet collected because I know your name
doesn’t leave her prayers.

I love you & I always will.
I love her & I will forever do.
beyond your decisions, and failures.
by forever & always,

I don’t mean 17 years like you did.
because I’m seventeen writing this, and I can assure you
I’m not halfway done loving you, nor your imperfections.

by forever & always,
I don’t mean I will look for a replacement when it gets tough.
I don’t mean running away when it gets overwhelming.

because believe it or not.

I can love better than you, because of you.

because I learned when to be like you, and
when to be the opposite of you.

I would like to finish this by saying,

I will never stop writing about your failure,
not to criticize your life or your emotions. I would never.
but to simply show that love CAN come out of such broken souls.
fullness CAN come out of such massive sacrifices.
grace CAN come out of such anger.

with unjudgemental love,
your 17-year-old daughter. **

I am
Lost but Found
           Broken but Fixed
Old but New
I am someone
                               Different
Someone who learned from their
M
I
S
T
A
K
E
S
But you didn't change me or help me.
I did it for me
While you watched from
Afar
Acting like you took part in who I
Am
Today

Did you know cherry pits contain cyanide?
Five cherry pits could **** you
But only if they are broken.
That’s what my heart is full of, cyanide.
The outside of cherries are red and beautiful.
Hearts love, it’s so appealing.
But the inside could **** you.
My heart is broken
Wait, not broken. It’s shattered.
So watch out because if you take me in
I could **** you.
I’m sorry.

I used to wake up missing him, as if we didn’t spend almost every waking minute in each other’s presence. As if I didn’t hear his voice more than my own.
“Your shadow doesn’t belong to you. I know where you’ve been.”
“I have no reason to lie,” he would recite to me.
That was our nightly tradition.
I would watch him sit across from me at the dinner table,
telling me that he never did mean to hurt me, with my heart on his plate.
I packed ahead of time, and reorganized my regrets to make room for our relationship.
I crumpled up the letter I wrote and put it in my back pocket.
I couldn’t bring myself to explain why I had to leave him; my absence would be devastating enough.

He would make his fabrications fit into the palm of his hand and smack me with them.
I was born and raised by the backhand of heartbreak so it was home away from home when I ran away to him.
Instead of standing up for myself
I wrote poetry so hot that I would burn his mouth every time I tried to feed him.
He was a better cook anyway.

My grandmother, when I sought her wise council,
told me that I should accept the pain and try to make something out of it.

I remember when I tried to make love out of my pain for the last time.
He clawed my spirit out of me, put it under my head like a pillow.
He laid on top of me, grinding into my pelvic bone, making heat that burned my skin.
The bite marks on my chest stung when his sweat dripped on me.
I closed my eyes and saw the manifestation of my fears.
My body finally gave out after running from my ******, and he came when I did.

As he slept, I cleaned the blood from under his fingernails.

i have my mother's fight and my father's loyalty.
and when it's good, it's grand.
i will paint your skies every shade of purple i can find.
i will stand by your side like man's best friend,
fighting for you, fighting with you.

i have my mother's fight and my father's loyalty,
but when it's bad...it's bad.
but i will still be here when
you say my skies look more like bruises
from fighting too hard, too much-
words thrown like fists, messy and unrefined.
i will still be here even when
you tell me my lavender sky was unrealistic,
my head always stuck in the clouds.

i have my mother's fight and my father's loyalty-
but what good does that combination do me
when they aren't together anyways?

you took me to your house last
night and held my mother’s hurt in
your arms made me whole again.
again i feel a sun of
an opportunity i haven’t felt since
the last time you

took me ice skating when i was five.
the snow has always felt like
entrapment to me
a boots on the ground
brawl to get above water.
as we slide on the
ice it threatens to crack beneath me and
break me by the leg that has fallen into the
thunder-rolling
ocean beneath.

but you tell a story of the time
you counted the slivers of white on the ice here,
the trembling pulse of a child’s whisper in the air
whistling through the trees.
and you dance with me without being careful
i’ve never felt so free

one day after your work decided to industrialize the father in you to death
and you decided i had died to you
and the feeling of the sun on my heart deferred
to a space on my forehead that my veins pulse out of
that next day i felt emptiness for the first time.
the ice underneath me broke me into an
avalanche of rumbling teardrops that shattered glass
and ice and
lasted for four long days.
the adult birthed in me breathed
and grew outside of my child body
and the little kid in me just watched until
her silence strangled her to
death?

today i know she’s living
child whisper whistling through my lungs and
learning how to dance in the day time
nurse the grown up to sleep
and take my space for her own
take my space for my own

for the first time today i played outside
found a frozen pond instead of that ice rink
and laid to face the sky,
fearless in the face of the wholy sun
but knowing that i am just as whole
-jmm

My father uprooted the linoleum tile
after purchasing the house and noticing carpenter ants.
The owners of the house before had laid down
their best pine colored flooring in the kitchen
back in 1959.
I would toddle in and out of the doorway
playing with the grout spacers,
and reaching for sourdough in the pantry.
All while stepping tiny pink sandals
around the dead ants.
I wanted to help my father, but was too afraid
to go near the oven.
The oven, whose
exhaust fan would snarl
like an animal of the night.
Incandescent, where they found Sylvia Plath.
Stained with oil
like a forgotten Jackson *******.

Foreboding
of it’s adjacent countertop
where eventually would lay
divorce papers.