Damsel In Hiding

My hair is not the river

that flows through the

bend and break of the forest.

Your calls to save me

have been drowned out

by the singing treetops.

When you are near,

my tower is unbreakable;

brick by brick by brick.

It grows like the grapevine

because you are not my prince

and I am certainly not your princess.

Imperfections

I could reach into my tangible reflection

to smooth my cracks and correct my faults,

to erase the ominous stories

etched into my skin, but I do not;

I let it be, for what's meant to be, is.

I do not allow instability to take these

bones as hostage for their egomania,

instead I let what already is, be

for it is no place of mine to control

the natural beauty that I possess.

Mirror Love

The boy who continuously crossed my path

in misadventure and rendezvous,

the boy who kissed me as if my tongue

was laced with vanilla,

& the boy who caressed my hand as he turned

my head into a whirlwind

were figments of lust.

Swollen scars,

crooked teeth,

rough skin,

& freckled smiles

taught me infatuation

with my reflection;

that is when I had learned

how to love.


Therapy

I cut myself open,

exposed my desolation,

poured salt on my own wounds,

and stitched myself back up.

You planted a seed

of manipulation within me

and nourished yourself

as I relied on you for nutrition.

-I am not your flower.

The Queen

She gained back a piece of herself

and she would soon realize that not

every loss would be held captive in

a dusty cellar in the back of her mind;

she realized that some losses, most,

would be an enlightenment to her dragons.

She was the embodiment of an entire

kingdom. Being the queen of her monsters,

she controlled the light that shone from

within her. All she needed was to learn how

to find electricity from herself, instead of

running on the energy of somebody else's love.

Romanticize Yourself

When I was five years I felt alone for the very first time. that night my home turned into that of a war zone of miscommunication and accusation. I made a home out of a fortress of pillows and blankets, hiding from my feigned excuse of a family. I thought it was love.

When I was ten years old my parents found themselves lost in a marriage of petty woes and a lack of passion. I didn't understand. I watched them show passion every night through venomous words and thunderous shouts. I thought it was love.

When I was thirteen I fell for my best friend who found gold inside of my mind. He scraped every last bit until my worth was diminished. Then he tauntingly held his newfound wealth on a silver platter, leaving me impoverished. I thought it was love.

When I was fifteen I watched the boy I had once found myself intertwined with locking lips with a girl who shattered a promise of sisterhood. He once whispered "forever" to me with eyes closed, but he was envisioning her icy blue eyes rather than my soft amber ones. I thought it was love.

When I was seventeen I reminisced on mixed signals as a boy I called a friend left me to fend for myself in my destitution of ignorance. I plucked every dandelion from the garden of my mind until all that was left were silent wishes, lost in the wind. I thought it was love.

When I was eighteen, in my reflection I found the recreation of a tired girl, a soft girl, a strong girl. though, she was no longer incomplete. Her pale complexion contrasted a liveliness embedded deep in her eyes. She exposed a beauty, unfound by anyone other than me. I know this is love.

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