I was birthed to quiet lullabies–
mirrors of feet that never ever stuck around,
hands that slipped away before I discovered their warmth.
My young heart protected only ghosts,
so I expanded familiar with covering hope
from splinters of assurance.
I joined the abuser,
traded one vacant home for an additional cage,
promised safety and security to a man with upsetting hands.
He broke me slow down–
a bruise here and there,
a whisper that I was entitled to the pain.
There were lies of cheating, monetary chains,
and shadows of physical violence where love ought to have been.
I collected each piece of myself
beneath the weight of his anger
and left in rush–
his apologies came too late;
I could never ever go back to that mess up.
Finally, I provided him area to repent– might he rest in tranquility.
After that came the guy that broke my trust,
hands that swiped what wasn’t his to take–
I lugged that infraction like a scarred treasure,
an inheritance I never ever asked to bear.
But my …