I want to write the beautiful poems
but all I can think about is the wild way
you loved me from the gut
the violent way you cut me with your teeth
the words that got caught in forget
the nights I stayed up in your stories
the alcohol that split you from sweet to scary
(if I was the one you wanted to marry)
I feel sorry for the rest
loved you from my chest
never fell in because
you couldn’t hold my deep
every closer flipped around
and pushed us further
you are not a monster
you are beautiful and biting
desperate to find your way
kept saying you were ready
that I was pushing you away
but it was your hands that made fists
your heart that got swallowed
by your own flipping script
I swear you don’t burn on purpose
you want wet and water
but when you feel scared
all you spit is flame
chewed through my arm trying
to get me to believe you loved me
honey, I knew
(but your kinda love hurts)
breath got short
when I waited for you
promises tight like pneumonia
clutching my breath
(your teeth around my neck)
so now I fear
every crush
every kiss
every tattooed passionate potential
is just another you
with my eyes sunk deep in his skin
like two hearts that
rip out and then touch
rip out and then touch
like my lashes and your ink
are still connected
and anyone I meet
will be you in another face
your sweet salty arms
on another body
waiting to engulf me
fuck me confused
love me closely
push me away
and then say
I never even gave us a chance
you are beautiful and boyish
and learning how to be grown up
wanted to play house together
but never met me on the same street
so I keep my distance
from tattoos
and passion
and boys
who fuck like liars
like love me
like love me not
like last time
so for the time being
my legs and lips are closed.
Melanie Laura Speaks 
Wow. I think I can feel the hurt here. I’ve never been in a physically abusive relationship and I’m still struck that they can be. I wonder if any of the expectations in role play appear to invite violence? I wish I knew how to help people heal from sexual and other violence. So many assaults on our person leaving our already grieving minds flapping about. We are all just plain hurting. I don’t believe in diagnosis because it would appear the DSM is actually a wholly non-scientific book based on what bullies subjectively decided was not the norm. What is normal when there are now hundreds of these groups of known human behaviors, labeled as so-called disorders, from shyness to bedwetting? And for which there are no substantiating objective chemical tests and no proven pharmaceutical cure or need. I just saw the documentary, “Making a Killing: the untold story of psychotropic drugging” put out by CCHR. Highly recommend it.
So, I think we hurt because we are hurting. Labeling and hurting some more. I wish I could help stop that all to human cycle. Thank you for your powerful food for thought.
Thanks for your comment. I often write in ways that leave my poems up for various kinds of interpretation. I do this intentionally and artistically because I enjoy using metaphors and also because in some cases, spelling things out would be a safety issue for me. And the end result proves that lots of things overlap- in art and in life. Things that aren’t the same, sometimes can be linked to the same or similar causes. Often the root cause of something, is the root cause of other types of things. Abuse, is a good example of something like this. That being said, this poem is not about physical abuse. But I do hope that various people with various experiences can get some kind of healing from it, if they see themselves in it.
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