Six Ways

I. His intentions were never as good as yours. He promised you love ‘til the very end, a smooth paved road, and happiness in every fold. You didn’t know he was a serial liar. That the truth never danced with him or graced his words with its presence. It’s hard to see the truth when fistfuls of hate are grazing your face and tears are dancing down your cheeks. II. He’s dug you down into the depths of your own despair, and you can’t see yourself anymore, under the cover-up hiding the bruises and black eyes. But you’ve stopped searching and digging, and only begun to bury yourself deeper. You don’t know what love is. You think it’s found when bones shatter and eyes swell shut. You think you can find it in collected tear drops, blood stained cloths and inside broken homes. III. You think that you don’t deserve better that somehow, this is entirely your fault. You think you deserve to be kicked to the ground and punched around. You think that you brought this upon yourself, that the choices you’ve made have brought you here and that broken bones were in your destiny That your happiness just wasn’t written in the stars. But that isn’t true. IV. Tears should not be dancing their merrily way down your face because a cowardly man decided to lay his hands on you. Fistfuls of hate belong stuffed in pockets, not stuffed in a woman’s face. Women around the world should never have to cover up black eyes and bruises, because they should never be there to begin with. V. My dear, You should not be burying yourself, but digging for the truth, because love doesn’t exist inside your shattered bones and you can’t see it when your eyes are swollen shut. It certainly is not found in those jars of collected tear drops and love was wiped clean when blood stains appeared, and darling, broken homes don’t kindle love. VI. You don’t think you’re worth anything, that his love is all you need. That the love he delivers in slaps and kicks and degrading words is all that you’re worth. Please know, that love isn’t trademarked with black eyes and purple bruises. Love isn’t picking up the broken pieces and bandaging the cuts. Love is not crying yourself to sleep and blaming yourself for these wounds. Open your eyes. Wipe away the tear and stress made clouds and realize. . . You are beautiful. Realize that you are more than a slap to the face and that your life isn’t all about hiding the truth. Stop spending your days searching for love in places love does not exist. You deserve more because you are worth more. You are beautiful.