neither.
her body froze over,
attempting to protect her.
it became a block of ice,
waiting for him to leave.
when he did,
she slowly, carefully
chipped at the ice.
some parts of her
are still frozen,
but she's walking
towards the sun.

is this clarity
or hormones?
how awful
i cannot tell the difference

is that even fair?

the body i am meant
to love
to trust
to protect

can't even tell me
the truth

loving someone
is only giving them a door
giving them a door
a lock
a key
and a wrecking ball
they can choose to
destroy you
save you
protect you
they can do whatever they please
and in the end they leave
whether by
betrayal
forsaking
or death
they leave
and take a piece with them.

neither nightmare nor a dream
stained in mauve are the back of my eyelids
hued with olives floral fadings be
i wash my crime off, one spatter at a time
and erase any false pretenses.
oh how i long for a canvas that's mine
a pulse to be uphold with nails of luster
to an empty museum dark and forlorn
smile. flash. take heed. don't ask for more.

preserve the art forever.

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.