The Road

I never asked for your vindication when I confessed that I loved you.
I knew the second those words left my fingers that there was no way your heart was ready.
I never asked for your permission to love you.
I am not your property. I am not your submissive, nor your slave.
I never asked for your heart in return.
I know that I am always the first to fall feet first.
The road that leads to your heart
may be treacherous,
full of beggars, murderers, kleptomaniacs, and con-artists,
possibly death, destruction and chaos.
I am but an unarmed, unprotected woman-child,
susceptible to all of these things,
and more.
I may walk through fires,
cut my feet on broken glass,
blister my hands from climbing,
starve,
thirst,
and collapse,
but I promise you,
I will not give up.
I have been broken, bruised, battered, bitten,
I have died,
and been ressurrected.
I have braved the coldest of winters,
sweated through the hottest of summers,
prayed through the barest of autumns,
and plowed through the fields of spring.
I am an unprotected, unarmed woman-child.
And though I may suffer,
I may hurt,
I may crumble,
I will crawl toward your heart
on cracked knees
and busted hands
to prove
my love,
and to earn yours.
I never asked you for vindication,
I never asked you for permission.
I never asked you for love.
I expected to earn it.
The best rewards we receive in this life,
are those we have honorably earned.

Black and Blue.

I adore the words
Willing Victim.
At age eighteen I was the victim.
Caught in a violent relationship, I never asked to be
Victimized.
The screams,
The bruises,
The broken bones were not consentual.
The hospital visits,
The lies,
the black eyes
And the tears
Were physical testaments to my
Everyday struggle.
I was broken
In every sense of the word.
I was the victim.
I survived.
I grew stronger,
More defiant,
More aware.
I began to blur the line
Between victim
And willing victim.
I took control of myself,
My body,
My mind,
And learned how to trust again.
Learned how to love again.
Learned how to be a person
Again.
I learned this
By being the willing victim.
I'm chaotic energy
In the right hands
Fluid light
When I'm bound
My screams no longer pierce the night sky
In agony
But rather,
Bliss.
I no longer cry out to god
For mercy.
I cry out to god
Because in my moments of painful ecstasy
I want to remember the name
Of the deity
Who was blind and deaf
To an eighteen year old broken girl.
The bruises I bear now
Are no longer reminders of the horror I faced.
They are hand written condolences, sweetly stinging love letters,
And heartfelt tributes to the beauty I was rebirthed into.
I am no longer a victim.
I have a name.
I have a soul.
And I have a choice.

Falling

I didn't want to let go.
We raced through the streets that night,
playing truth or dare with the wind.
I held on to you as you
whipped us through sidestreets
on your two wheeled
death machine.
By the time we stopped,
I was breathless, and I didn't want to let go,
but I did.
I didn't want to let go
the first night you held my hand
We laughed and smiled and whispered
downtown,
listened to stories,
and began creating our own.
I snuck my hand into yours,
as we walked toward the bookstore.
But I didn't want to let go,
though, I did.
I didn't want to let go,
When you wrapped your arms around me,
your lips pressed to mine,
your body
leaning into mine,
your heart
beating in time with mine,
Your breath,
Stilled, like mine.
I didn't want to let go,
But, I did.
I didn't want to let go
The first time you grabbed my hand, and led me out onto the dance floor.
The bass was pounding through my chest,
My body moved in time with yours,
Everybody else just dissappeared
And there was only you and I.
I didn't want to let go,
But I did.
I didn't want to let go
When I wrapped my arms around you while you slept.
Being curled up next to you,
Left my dreams sweet.
I wanted you to know I was there, though you were softly snoring in my ear.
I didn't want to let go.
But, I did.
I don't want to let go,
Because my soul recognizes yours.
I love the way you make me feel when we touch,
When we laugh at ourselves, or at each other,
When we're together, or
when we're apart.
So, I'm holding on.
Holding on to the ideas, the dreams, the talks and the stories, the jokes, the good times, and you.
I'll hold on to you.
Until we're ready
To let go.