the people who should protect her
stare into her exhausted eyes 
and hammer nails into her heart.
chains bearing obligation and trauma
coil tighter and tighter around her ankles. 
resisting worsens the sensation -
almost cutting off the circulation
until the pain is so great 
that numbness takes over,
which leads to not resisting,
which feels like resignation - 
and the cycle keeps going.
all she wants is to run freely 
until the nails and chains
are distant memories 
that she will never
pass on to anyone else.

my love carries
the scent of vanilla perfume.
it drifts through me,
then dances with the wind
until it finally reaches him,
the man a thousand miles away,
and brings us closer together.

on some days
I'm a piece of sandpaper -
rubbed and rubbed
until I'm raw and stinging,
until there's almost nothing left.

but there's a little corner
that doesn't sting,
that renews my hope,
that heals every part of me
until I'm whole again.

I wanted a doctorate,
one that specialized in him -
to know him so thoroughly
that the lines on his palms were
ones I could recite in my sleep
I was so close to getting it.

His voice caught my attention.
"What?" he asked kindly.
"Oh, nothing," I said nonchalantly
as I averted my eyes,
kept the blossoming love hidden.
I resolved to try another day.

on some days,
my feelings spill
over the rim of
the vessel that is my body,
so I compress them
until they're ready to burst.

then I relax and remind myself:
my feelings need space.
the people who have space
will reach into the vessel
and help you hold them
until everything is okay again.

my trust is like waves of the ocean.
they meet the sand at the shore,
then run away faster than ever.
if the waves are too strong,
will the sand vanish...
or will it be pulled by the waves?

I am complete -
with or without him.
he is not the glue
for the cuts
on my heart.
instead,
he stands by me
as I heal them.