I made a thing from weeds and bark
and called the thing I made--a heart.
I wrapped it 'round with wire and twine
and crossed it, kept it--called it mine.

Love my heart, love it much
despite the rot and wasps and such
and when you're done--I'll love you back
to see what nightmares come from that.

On the white screen dance the stringed dots
Mind spilled codes of hieroglyphic thoughts
Slowly they emerge handholding lines
Not always yielding intended designs.
Something was brewing inside the head
Coaxing to weave and take it ahead
The drunken horses so wildly gallop
There is no leash to make them stop.
Nerves are taut and they won't relax
Till all is vented they reach the ******
It was thus fated the moment it was sown
What's to be grown could never be known.
As the fever wanes arrives the new child
It may be adored or it may be defiled
The canvas is washed clean as in the rain
Something is brewing to be vented again.

She said she felt bad for my father
Because I wasn't speaking to him anymore

Then she read my poems

Everything what goes up must come down. The only thing on this earth that doesn't is your age.

I remember the pain—
knowing that you spoke lies,
controlled me with fear,
told others of your sins
while painting me as the villain.

You broke me
over and over and over.
I flinch at hugs.
I cry with loss—
loss of my heart.

You broke me.
I am barely a person,
shaped by the pain you caused.
I nearly took that final step

because you needed control,
needed to lash out, to hurt me.
You told others it was me—
that I caused the pain you inflicted.

You paint yourself as a victim.
I barely survived.
You continue your actions,
wallowing in false sympathy.

I bare my pain
through my poems.