"botch" poems
People say I’m always late,
And that I always make them wait;
I take so long to arrive,
They could **** me with their eyes.
I don’t mean any disrespect;
And if I could I would correct
This awful quirk of mine,
Of never getting there on time.
Could I have a broken clock?
I wish I knew the method to unlock
The secret to a scheduled life,
And thus avoid so much strife.
I’ve tried the systems, plans and schemes,
To change my life has been my dream;
But interruptions plague my day,
Distractions lead me all astray.
It’s not that I am unaware
Of Time’s passage or don’t care.
No, I savor every minute;
I wish I had them without limit.
The seconds pass, I feel them go;
I mourn them all, you know.
I want to hold them, keep them fast;
Not let them slip into the Past.
And that’s the reason I’m a mess
At schedules and the rest;
I can’t work fast, I can’t resist;
The weight of Time I can’t dismiss.
I hope the world will understand
Just why I botch up every plan.
Confusion is never my desire;
Each moment’s like a jewel to admire.
I ask your patience, if you please;
I’ll try my best to appease;
But if I’m late have sympathy,
I mix up Time with Eternity.
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 12:43 PM UTC
I wasn't always so easily discouraged.
I used to bristle with enthusiasm.
I glowed with it.
It didn't matter if the task was simple, or tedious, or daunting, or boring.
As though on rails, I slammed into each and every task with terrific force.
But I got older.
Things that used to come easily grew slippery.
What I used to do without thinking twice, I found myself over-thinking.
I threw the brake. I ground to a halt.
Finally, I became idle. A left-over husk of a kernel that's already been popped.
I drowned myself with doubts. Hypothetical situations that might never happen.
I lived in fear of what might go wrong.
So I began to watch everything go wrong, as though I was helpless.
I was no less able. I was no less compassionate.
But I had grown wary. Of what?
What was it that, out of nowhere, caused me to slow down?
I guess I looked down and realized that if I fell, I would not be getting back up.
When you're young, you have no worries, because nothing is relying on your success.
So you mess up a math problem. You'll get it eventually.
So you botch things with that cute girl who sits across from you. You're young, you'll get it.
Re-assurance, faithfully, unwaveringly. A safety line should I fall.
But I never really fell, did I? So why am I laying down like I have?
Get up.
Get up.
I worry about everything. I worry that I will fail.
I dread what comes, what I can't avoid. But time, and time, again, it comes, and I miraculously don't die when it hits, because I've been bracing for a train-wreck impact, a force that will really, truly, finally, definitely lay me flat for good.
I close my eyes, and brace. But the crash never comes. The silence that was continued to be.
I turn behind me, but there's no train there.
I'm starting to realize, with relief, (with horror), that maybe all I needed to do was step off the track.
I look down, and realize, with a first-creeping then-howling laughter that I was never on the track to begin with.
I look off where the track is. There's no train there, either. Maybe there never was.
Maybe there never will be.
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 12:33 AM UTC
Some days i am angry, actually most of the time im angry.
I sprout out rude snarky remarks, so people can have a reason to hate me.
I roll my eyes and cross my arms, hoping that someone can give me a reason to be filled with annoyance.
I hand out ***** looks as if they're candy.
I lash out on friends and family.
I tell people’s secrets so they have a reason to leave me.
I break people, and I break things.
The violent anger in me never ends. Anger is sadness, and sadness is anger, misery is despise,and despise becomes misery,
But the anger is all just a charade.
The anger cloaks the victim in me by pushing people away.
The victim in me cries lakes of tears
The victim in me stays in bed all day, and stares at the ceiling
The victim in me craves the feeling of being held
The victim in me fantasizes of blades, knives and needles
The victim in me cannot be happy for other people's successes,
The victim in me craves the sweet comfort of feeling loved by another person that it almost hurts.
The victim in me yearns for the love that other people receive.
Sometimes the victim and the anger like to play a game. The game consists of the seeing who can botch my brain up the most.
The battles in my mind goes on and on, as i lose friends, one by one.
The anger tells me to push people away while the victim is telling me to accept the love a random girl gives me because that might be the only love you can get
The battle in my mind has now become a war that I cannot win.
The anger in me cage's my heart slowing down my breathing, making it impossible to honestly love someone.
The victim in me has told me to be sad, so people will care, for the victim urges me to over share my thoughts to anyone that is willing to listen.
The anger, tells people off, the anger hurts people, the anger ruins lives.
But shrouded by anger, is the victim, the victim who just wants to feel the love that other people are given.
The victim in me looks at the word love as if it's a magical word that could possibly fix anyone.
The victim in me believes in fairy tales. True love, a princess and happiness.
But the victim in me doesn’t know how to love, nor does the anger. Neither know how to love properly, but maybe just maybe they don’t have to love, maybe I can be the one who learns to love.
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 2:53 PM UTC
People seem to say, "Oh, it's totally fake!"
"Why would you believe anything you see them do?"
"It's all acting."
And that isn't entirely true, at all, but many people won't believe me.
Now, don't tell me I'm wrong, because this is my opinion.
I won't say you're right or wrong in thinking wrestling is fake.
All I'll say is, if you think it's completely fake, then I disagree.
And here's why.
I always ask those I talk to about this the same question.
I ask, "If wrestling is fake, then why do people actually get hurt?"
Then I say, "If wrestling wasn't real, then people would never get injuries that either cost them a few months, or force them to retire."
The reason why I always say this, is because wrestling isn't a joke.
I see people actually get hurt because they botch a move, or land wrong.
I've seen punches and kicks actually connect, and cause someone to get a concussion.
I've seen people get dislocations and broken bones, and wonder how long they'll be out for.
Sure, there are things that can be overexaggerated.
And I won't doubt that injuries can be purely storyline driven.
But, when the person is actually hurt, and needs surgery, how can you call that fake?
How is it fake if the injury causes someone to have to hang up their boots for a while, and go into physical therapy to recover?
How is it fake if it can cost people their careers, or their lives?
Remember what happened to Owen Hart?
He was supposed to come down from the ceiling, but the thing broke, and he fell all the way down to the ring.
People didn't know whether it was real or not, but he ended up dying from injuries sustained from that fall that same night.
Wrestling isn't fake, but it is scripted.
The storylines are scripted, I don't doubt that for a minute.
There are many wrestlers who have feuds on camera, but are friends behind the scenes.
There are people who act like heels, but are the nicest people you'll ever meet, or the other way around.
Mistakes are real, and the bumps they take will actually hurt.
There are things you can fake, and it does take acting in order to portray the right emotion.
But when someone breaks something while wrestling, and is out for a long period of time due to surgery and recovery, then it's hard for me to believe for a second that it's completely fake.
I prefer scripted, so that's what I call it.
Raw is on tonight, so I had this thought in my head, and decided to get it out.
Okay, that's my library post of the day.
I'll talk about something else tomorrow, or the same thing, I don't know.
I just write whatever I feel like, and I thought about this, so I wrote it.
See you tomorrow, bye!
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 1:25 PM UTC
\\\\\\\\\\___------/////////
Sitting in the blue-grey stillness
Of my bathroom
Temperature set to make a perfect
balance
between hot and cold.
Except I am leaning on the cold side,
Prickly hairs.
Porcelain bowls,
cupids, angels,
catholic saints,
preasthood,
Angelic ivory
white
toilet bowl
Stained with our animal ****
Over time creating cracks
Of filthy streaks
Just like
how humans carve into
the Earth,
Denying our birth,
Killing our worth,
By overstuffing
our girth
To hide our
true nature.
Ivory bowl
I have just released my blood to you
Blood of my ancestors
Sacred blood
Blood pasted down
in this lineage.
Deep, deep
womb blood
Blood of mistakes.
Blood of stupid conversations and lies
I lived.
Blood of my dear dear
Precious baby
Blood of shame
Further ingrained
Into this white ivory
perfection.
Blood of the savage within me
Crying to break out
While I stand stout
And pull my bow
Tighter and tighter
Sharpen the peaks
Of my fake smile.
I'm happy
I'm happy
I'm normal, normal,
Normal!!!
While inside drums cry
To be beaten
Battles rage on
in explosive contemplation
My bodies ovulation
Of fertile
Formation
....
Then the immunization
..
I try to move to the beat of the nation
But it's a boring station
Feeling my souls frustration
With this numbing radiation.
The baby in my body wails
I am NOT(!!!!)
To be born
To a ship that
fails
The sails.
I am sitting on this
Cloy toilet bowl,
a mirage of all that's wrong
Ring wrought
Fought
rung wrong
Throughout me.
I've been living so long
Killing my song
Killing my dear
Sweet, sweet baby
Hiding demons behind flesh
An obsess
to hide the less
Only ever the best
The best, best,
Best, Best!!
And now I sit,
In porcelain stillness
A full release of the wild woman
woven deep in my bones and blood
Now I sit
Smothering myself
in the mud
I was born in.
Once too ashamed to accept the actuality
of this physical form.
Now I sit
In the silence after
The storm.
Miscarriages, miconceptions
Flopped contraceptions
Illusions, lost directions
Miscarriage means:
a foiled outcome
Of something planned,
Lost dreams,
So strongly bound
Into my bone.
Now I'm feeling
Alone.
They say you must be empty to be free...
Pulling the scattered pieces
Off of the wall
Reshaping after
The fall
Courage. Courage.Courage
COURAGE!!!!
Courageous heart
How I let you fall apart
I'm here
I'm now
I'm ready
to grow
Run free
run strong
And let blossom
The seeds
you sow.
--thank you--
.. sweet blood..
.
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 1:21 AM UTC
I miss the look on your face when you saw me
I miss the smell on of the smoke on your skin
I miss the small, silver camera you held in your hand
I missed you the moment you'd taken me in
I miss the long drives past rolling corn feilds
I miss the tissue crumpled in my hand
I miss the trailer sat 10 feet from your porch light
I missed you the moment that I knew I can
I miss the family that I'd never known there
I miss my neices blue eyes, curly hair
I miss when Aunt Nikkie painted my nails green
It started chipping, but I didn't care
I miss the fireflies that I couldn't catch
I miss the movies you forced me to watch
I miss the ashtrays all over the house
I missed the jokes I continue to botch
I miss the grapes that you stuck by my bedside
I miss the feel of my neice on my lap
I miss my cousins attempting to drown me
I even miss Tristan, whom I wanted to slap
I miss the day that they took me out shopping
I miss watching movies with them late at night
I miss winning money on Grampa's 10 slot machines
I miss how hard those mosquitos would bite
I miss the day that you bought me a pizza
I miss the way that smoked everyday
I miss the drive to the airport that morning
I miss your face, as you drove away
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 12:31 AM UTC
The
Life's amazings
you've got so much to live fors
people love yous
are too much
I'd rather go out wildly
or by botch.
My defences are like chewing glass Skittles;
they're too brittle, my mouth full of shards
I'm spewing blood by the yards,
while switching wards;
I've tasted the rainbow,
the flavour was like ****
blow after blow, I've taken all the hits.
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 2:59 PM UTC
*Let the playgrounds be there for children
Hosting games which are played fairly
Formative minds exercising for healthy future
Open grounds let’s them breathe fresh air
Embracing bonhomie and fair play
Giving equal opportunity and space to each other
Playgrounds will nurture the formative years
Learning to play with dignity throughout life
Growing up to be torchbearers of the nation
Healthy mind resides in a healthy body
Playgrounds be the venue for diverse congregation
Spreading the message that games are not trivial
So many feuds are resolved with dignity
Children can teach the art of resolving strife
A playground can be the hallmark for diversity
Giving equal opportunity to all the players
Let’s not botch up every possible place for our needs
In the name of development, only concrete structures
Only meandering roads leading nowhere
Let the playgrounds be there for children*
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 9:23 AM UTC
She doesn't stroll on water
But makes a drop taste sweet,
There are no wings upon Her back
But you'll hover off your feet.
Whenever She glides into a room
No halo on Her head,
Her presence transforms any traces of doom,
Your spirit will be fed.
With hope for all the future
What was blindfolded before,
Bursts in rays of colour
As She takes you on a tour.
All unanswered questions, hey!
"What is the meaning of life?"
She answers with a single smile,
To children, husbands, wifes.
If She had a halo
She would lock it in a chest,
Far be it from Her, She thinks,
To feel She is the best.
That modesty, those charismatic
Eyes, that shining aura,
Enough to make a dying spirit
Rise from out the corner
But who guards the Angels?
Who keeps watch?
Protecting such an important being,
It's not a job to botch.
For though She doesn't know it
If life's cruelty makes Her stumble,
Then other souls who matter,
Could end up in downwards tumbles.
It isn't fair, the pressure,
Living Her life for everyone,
And this is how the shackled Wolf,
Has burst into the sun!
Chained and tortured, the Lone Wolf
Eventually was blind to light,
He needed a purpose, a mission in life,
Else die in dark and fright.
So now, inspired by an Angel,
He has finally seen the way,
Manacled but inspired,
He grows stronger every day.
The Wolf will never be as strong
As She who breaks chains for everyone!
But as long as She can turn to him,
All that matters to him is done.
She protects the people from,
The cruel, the nasty, the foul,
And any who try to move in Her way,
Will hear the Lone Wolf's growl.
So if you feel a glow one day,
At you the Angel may well be shining,
And running at Her heels, Her faithful servant,
Will no longer be whining.
Dec 27, 2020
Dec 27, 2020 at 10:55 PM UTC
I used to worry
that they'd send you away
to a life of imprisonment
because they hated you so
for no reasons they could explain
I used to worry
because their tread marks
were in our driveway anytime
they needed someone to try and pin things on
though you were never less than honorable
polite, personable, my genuinely good brother
I never used to worry
that they'd one up my worries
and send you somewhere further away than prison
I never used to worry that the forces
meant to uphold law and justice
to serve and protect
would walk blindly past the line
of no return, to botch their expected standards
while watching you slip away
I never used to worry
that there was an evil force within some people
that could destroy the glue holding our family
together, then again I was so young
so naive, to think that people were instinctively good
that people, having families of their own
would never purposefully tear apart another's
but I don't suppose they ever thought of me
and your kin, or beyond that need to bring you down
I never used to worry that the system would fail
allowing guilty parties to walk free,
to have families of their own; to not even recognize the fault and
to protect the ones who took you away
I used to worry that they'd try to send you
to a life of imprisonment, and in the end
they did send you away,
but it is a place where I cannot visit
and instead it is us, who love you so,
imprisoned in what we call life, where the fences are
the breaths I take, the steps I walk, the beats of my heart
the walls that confine me and separate me from the world
are the memories and lost time, and of only knowing you
through my childhood eyes
and the guards and wardens are the haze which clouds
my thoughts, unable to still hear your voice or see your face
in my mind
and my day of release will only come
when I walk through the gate, past the fences
to the afterlife, where my life will finally begin again.
Feb 8, 2011
Feb 8, 2011 at 9:30 AM UTC
Electric eyes domestic thighs I just got a feeling you are where I want to go
Narcissistic pride to high to die don't need no reason for me to put on a show
Can't let it slide nowhere to hide botch dont **** my vibe all I see is green my swag is set on go
Courrupt with lies full of it attracting flies I wondered why I made an effort to even try
Wish I would of just said no
Lust is off the chart off guard from the start unintentional you pulled out my heart
It's easy to say anything but I needed you to grow
Up side-by-side official do or die a patriot being victimized
Not likely but Floridana is a place we both should know
Support as strong as Styrofoam at agonizing won't leave me alone
Negative to wrong negativity right lose confidence discovering happiness inside a broken home
Ignorance in ignore to what make you miserable
Designed to change your mind confidant and comfortable in twined.
Apr 1, 2016
Apr 1, 2016 at 4:55 AM UTC
Like a stone from home into night I am cast,
My need for a story is certainly vast.
Thus fleet are my feet as I take to the street,
To implore the lore of ev’ry thing that I meet.
My interest is incentive to know,
Where from rocks roll, how the grass doth grow,
When so many things do cross this sod?
And who dared on what dirt trod?
The unbeaten trails entail many tales,
Of travails against which mine merely pale.
How came you here, oh cairns and stalks?
Confide you in me, I swear I’ll not balk.
For I as brave sentinels regard you all,
Though I know time will yet see your downfall.
And know I better that the ******** of prattle,
Will for their own gain seek thee to embattle.
Such cowards their duty for continuity botch,
Not showing their knowing that it is your watch
Holds the stars in the sky, for our fates are all married.
And thus ours must follow, when all you are buried.
Speak to me then, let heard be your pleas,
For I am as a Lorax, speaker for the trees.
And for the ground that holds them fast,
Loving their present, saving future, knowing past.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 6:07 PM UTC
Today, we have surgery
I sink my chest into yours.
Your blood pumping through my veins for a bit,
I feel heavy.
I want to turn to a whisp.
Like the Night Elves in World of Warcraft.
A floating blue orb of energy
weightless electricity,
Spirit in the power lines, like that spark we felt.
Tealight in a gas stove, left on for 6 months
When I am cremated
My ashes will be Kept in little ziplock baggies,
Filed away in the back seat of my mothers car,
Until she parks in a bad part of town
You break in
Leave the quarters for the tolls
Leave the GPS cupped to the windshield.
Then snort me, in my mothers backseat.
Thinking you just hit the jack ***
That's where I will be.
Charcoal cave painting your nasal cavity
coating the inside of your lungs like a cigarette.
Replacing your addiction.
This surgery
The Aorta of copper perfume,
Scalpels summoning blood,
I, scavenged from the wreckage
my heart inside you,
the rest scrapped in a kiln.
If they botch the surgery
cold Iron will be the last thing you smell.
I, a spark
grounding from your chest.
Heart still beating.
Jan 17, 2018
Jan 17, 2018 at 9:21 AM UTC
You act as if you hadn't a clue
You act as if I hadn't talked to you
You act as if I hadn't tried till in the face I was blue
I did, I tried
I did, but you only sighed
I did,rivers of tears I cried
Why are you such a ********
Why is your agony dispread
Why did you not listen and ended up mislead
I beckoned you to come near
I beckoned you so I could make it clear
I beckoned you but you only looked at me with that sneer
So I let you do it your own way
So I let you become the prey
So I let you crumble in just mere days
Now i'll just set and watch
Now I'll just set while all of it you botch
Now I'll just set as you make another notch
If only you had not just listened but heard
If only you hadn't let things get so blurred
If only you hadn't acted so absurd
I sat and I watched you expire
I sat and I watched as your situation got dire
I sat and I watched as you set yourself on fire
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 9:57 AM UTC
Never of failure afeared, but of
Trying nay at all. To fail final
It is not. Success from botch enough
Come. Though life has an outlook dismal,
Nevertheless with persistence and grit
And prayer, things bleak will turn bright.
No head afraid can achieve any feat,
Which sees not at the tunnel's end light.
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 8:27 AM UTC
You act as if you hadn't a clue
You act as if I hadn't talked to you
You act as if I hadn't tried till in the face I was blue
I did, I tried
I did, but you only sighed
I did,rivers of tears I cried
Why are you such a ********
Why is your agony dispread
Why did you not listen and ended up mislead
I beckoned you to come near
I beckoned you so I could make it clear
I beckoned you but you only looked at me with that sneer
So I let you do it your own way
So I let you become the prey
So I let you crumble in just mere days
Now i'll just set and watch
Now I'll just set while all of it you botch
Now I'll just set as you make another notch
If only you had not just listened but heard
If only you hadn't let things get so blurred
If only you hadn't acted so absurd
I sat and I watched you expire
I sat and I watched as your situation got dire
I sat and I watched as you set yourself on fire
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 10:09 AM UTC
god i love children
i catch them and **** them
i empty then fill them
up with my own blood.
i tare out their eyes
so they see no more lies
now i dont compromise
while im chewing my cud.
i creep while i watch them
i catch them i wash them
then surgically botch them
so their bodies flood.
the truth is these youths
well i do keep them fresh
(well at least all their flesh)
and then i take their death
drape it over my head
and i wear like the red
of a budding rose-bud.
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 5:21 PM UTC
You act as if you hadn't a clue
You act as if I hadn't talked to you
You act as if I hadn't tried till in the face I was blue
I did, I tried
I did, but you only sighed
I did,rivers of tears I cried
Why are you such a ********
Why is your agony dispread
Why did you not listen and ended up mislead
I beckoned you to come near
I beckoned you so I could make it clear
I beckoned you but you only looked at me with that sneer
So I let you do it your own way
So I let you become the prey
So I let you crumble in just mere days
Now i'll just set and watch
Now I'll just set while all of it you botch
Now I'll just set as you make another notch
If only you had not just listened but heard
If only you hadn't let things get so blurred
If only you hadn't acted so absurd
I sat and I watched you expire
I sat and I watched as your situation got dire
I sat and I watched as you set yourself on fire
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 10:53 AM UTC
It's shallow
How you try to be so deep
And it's level
How you try to be so steep
It's sad
How you try to be so cheerful
It's quiet
When you try to give an earful
You're trying
And it breaks my heart to watch it
Because you're failing
All you seem to do is botch it
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 5:21 PM UTC
On these blank pages is where I write my story.
It has some sad moments, but my story is a happy story.
I grew up without a father figure there to guide me.
No man to say "Good job son" or play catch with me on Sundays.
I grew up large, literally.
I've always been a bit on the heavy side.
I like to think of it as: "God had too many ingredients to include when making me, so he threw them all in anyways."
But I think he included too many tablespoons of self-disappointment.
I lack self-confidence in myself to accomplish even the littlest task.
I've always felt embarrassed in situations around "cool" people that I always fumble and botch what I'm doing.
I've never been with a woman.
I think they all were just made to avoid me but I know that's not the case.
As much as I may "avoid" them I hate it.
I desperately want to talk to a girl, but I lack the words to say.
And even when I find the words to say, they all come flying back at me eventually.
"Women" is something I think I'll never understand fully or even get, unless I pretend to be a Christian on Christian Mingle.
Or Farmer on Farmer's Only.
But I digress.
Even though I consider myself to be a nice guy, people still hate me.
I have no idea why, but they do.
It spreads like wildfire around me.
People snicker here and people snicker there.
It drives me insane.
Life drives me insane.
My lack of confidence drives me insane.
I just want to stand and flip this table onto the ground.
And sometimes I want to shout ********* and "this is hell."
I just want to stand and start a revolution.
Tell people how I really am.
Kiss the girl I like.
Say **** it" to the rest of the world.
Become someone who matters.
I just want to stand and scream, but I don't.
I just sit back down at this table, typing on this computer.
I'm surrounded by friends and tables.
I look around the room at all these people going about their lives and their days.
I just refocus back on this blank page, where I write my story.
It has some sad moments,
But my story is a happy story.
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 9:55 AM UTC
Take a breath
Is your mind ready
Try not to botch the title
Life’s end is ready
Escape death
Feb 3, 2010
Feb 3, 2010 at 5:43 AM UTC
I tense my thumb over the bottom right-hand corner
of the page and recite a block of text
transcribed from a dead man’s notebook.
A stuttered requiem without accompaniment.
When I run out of lines to botch,
I bow my head politely and leave the stage
before anyone with a list of names and numbers
in front of them can thank me “for showing up.”
Outside, a woman dressed like a carnival growls at me,
or to me, in a language I don’t understand.
The audition sheet she grips prompts me
to point her in the right direction.
I watch her strut from my present to my past,
and neither of us is smiling.
Maybe she’s foreign to this place,
and maybe, so am I.
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 9:38 PM UTC
I argue with you inside my head
Angered by words you've never said.
I write our scripts to my design
Then am vexed when you botch your lines.
Dec 10, 2020
Dec 10, 2020 at 3:44 PM UTC
Here I stand alone yet with my husband. He is a rapper who knows me. But he hates me. Maybe it is because I can be so easily the villain he calls me. I am that stupid botch who has never done anything for him. And yes I know it's been 16 years but he still says I make his life's hell. I know I cook but my food not good enough. My cleaning ***** I don't deserve a date because I am a snake. I get hit a lot he said it's why god created man over woman. And I don't get love . But I stay because I do....who knew.
I don't love me no more. Let's just zzz be honest. I had to stop loving me because they're ain't no room for me. I am the only replaceable thing . The only non important thing. The only thing here. I be honest I'm afraid. I have fear. He says he lives me. Could that be true. Do darker bruises mean more love. I am a fool. I thought some how things would be cool. And my and his mother warned me to pack my thing and leave but be true. Stand up for yourself don't be afraid. But I have No where to go. Take 5 kids where. He would find m me and embarrass me. Hit me talk bad to our kids. They say it's me. I shouldn't walk away to avoid a fight. ....I ask what do I do. They say I don't know I fear for you.
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 5:09 PM UTC