“You’re a mistake…..You mean nothing….I love you”

Three poisonous words, from the woman I love,

The protagonist of my story, the savior from above.

Between the screaming and the bruises, the cursing and the fuming,

The “I love you” resonated the strongest, but with every spiteful insult

I realized this world was Godless.

   Blindfolded from the truth by childish expectations,

The horrors of abuse filled in with crayon sedations,

I scribbled the sun above the darkest of nights,

When shrieking were monsters, and thuds weren’t fights.

Mothers loved their children, and fathers came home.

But my blindfold slipped off, and there appeared a hole.

A hole in my heart, that appeared endless,

Carved by negativity, and remaining completely friendless,

A hole in my mind, filled with anxiety,

Searching for liberation, and regretting sobriety.

I can’t connect to you, so I write for me.

My speech has been muted, and deemed unworthy,

With a pen and my words, I can give my mind mercy,

My pain flows on paper, and leaves space for me to think.

This inferno of agony, is relieved by just ink.

I write to heal, and let the pain flow,

The more I write, it contributes less to my holes.

I am a very broken creature, who hides in the night,

Where my existence was created, born by mistake and mutually hated.

I know no light, without a pen in my hand,

The writing of words lifts the weight,

So I can finally stand.