He branded her skin with his words
and claimed her body with his hands.

He tied a knot around her heart
and tugged in times of despair.

He was a chef in the art of lies
and he knew just how much sugar she liked.

He knew her,
the shape of her curves,
the waves in her hair,
the desire in her lips..
the cracks in her mask.

He knew how she valued words,
how they were as valuable to her as music to him.

He knew how she longed for knowledge,
how it brightened her eyes and enlightened her heart.

He knew her,
everything about her,
because she could go on for hours
and never run out of words she wanted to share with him.

He had told her he loved her.

And then he just could never seem to remember to tell her again.

she was a mess.
but it was okay
because no one could see
her internal clutter.

but then he came around,
and soon he was her morphine.
he became her stars,
and her sun.

and no longer
would the mess inside
take over,
not when he was there.

but soon,
the nights were too foggy for the stars to appear
and her words would form waterfalls
cascading down into the depths of her heart.

soon,
the moon would fall in love with her sun,
and the clutter inside would only grow,
blocking any light from creeping in.

too soon,
the mess would be indestructible,
and too hard to hide.

and now,
there was no one to stop it.

he was smart
and he was kind.
but what i failed to realize
was that he was blind.

blind to my words,
and blind to how i felt.
he couldn't see how what he was doing to me,
was tearing me apart.

she was not fragile like a snowflake.
she was fragile like a bomb.
and i didn't know which was scarier-
                                                        ­  her explosion or her calm.

I have a talent that not all can say they do.
Not God-given,
Or even special, really.
More of a skill, a trick taught in the darkness.
The one that suddenly appears
After nights of trying to bat away
the curled talons that inch my traitors forward.
My traitors.
How dare they betray me,
How dare they fall in love with the hand that says will give them all,
And leave me shaking,
In the bitter, dark, coldness of my room.
I have a talent that not all can say they do:
I’ve learned how to stay silent
When even my heart gives out,
And leaks its sorrows,
Staining my cheeks.
I’ve learned how to silence the pounding words in my head,
The profanities I never got to shout.
I’ve learned how to silence the grief that comes in toppling waves,
Because being in numbers is being stronger.
I’ve learned how to silence the ever-growing sorrow and grief,
That attacks in the dead of night,
With a jab at your heart
and a buzz in your head.
Never leaves,
Yet not always present.
But here I am,
Here I still stand,
Silenced and surviving.