My body is MY body
But I don't feel it is.
Because they have thought my body was theirs to criticize.
Because she had thought my body was safe in the fire, while my body burned
for
eighteen
years.
Because he told my body that my body is his to abuse.

I believed them.
And her.
And him.

Dabbing cover up on my face to cover up the pain from him.
Hearing her words,
you are fine.
Smear it in.
They can't see me cry.

I release the pain when nighttime comes.
When darkness and my body turn into one.
"Someone needs to teach your body a lesson"
are the words that keep screaching,
like the sound of innocent prey being feasted upon.

My body is convinced that he was right.
So I seek out ways to end my life.

Victimized,
but my body survived.
When will my body know that it is mine?
Mine to honor, protect, and love.
I've been in the fire,
I've burned for too long.
I keep touching the fire.
I can't stop.
Because,
the fresh burns will always be less painful than the lasting scars.

You annoy me
sometimes
You make me want to bang my head against the steering wheel
sometimes
And sometimes,
I rest my head against yours
with my crying eyes looking into your sleeping eyes
wondering why it is that I can't do it all right
for you.
Why sometimes when your face is filled with amazement
gazing up at the starlit sky
you tap me on the shoulder to remind me there is a moon,
but I'm sometimes too busy
looking down at my toes
wondering when the next time I can get a pedicure will be?
Because when you have a child,
they say "your life is over"
which is entirely true.
Life starts over
and sometimes I find I have to remind myself
that paying this bill right NOW is not what life is dependent on.
I would tell you
that next time I'll get it right
but it's sometimes not true.
You are teaching me how to live again,
and with learning comes mistakes.
But there is one thing I know to be true,
I may not know how to be the perfect parent
but I know how to perfectly love you.