Foolish Plights

Her hopes were always shallow,

The dreams remained subdued,

She spent every hour burrowed in an immutable shame,

Body shaking with every forceful touch he continued to pursue,

His “I love you’s” barely audible from her resounding screams.

He covered my mouth and begged me to calm down,

I slowed my breathing and tried reminding myself that this is love,

But the pain was intolerable,

His eyes looking past me,

His hands degrading me,

Skin chafing,

Nails drawing blood,

Bruises from violent contact,

There was nothing romantic about that night;

The night where love transcended into a routine of abuse.

I thought I had loved him,

But little did I know the monster I had been pursuing,

The fool I was becoming,

Innocently bound to him by chords of sympathy.

Love is not about a renewing change of man,

About fearful nights,

Torment and abuse,

Love does not confide in misery and fear.

Love is to die to yourself and own plausible feelings,

To commit to a person fully for their own prosperity,

Love is communication,

Free and unabridged,

Where denotation takes over all connotation and no means no,

Love is trusting one another,

To live at ease with one another’s actions, words, and motives,

Love is self- control,

Knowing how to deprive one’s passions for another’s dignity.

The scars fade but the victim she once was will always stand,

She holds her head high and begins again,

On a search for true, authentic love.