After the Second Time

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No one is going to graze your skin with their lips painted in honest lipstick. People are going to poison you with sweet berry pie compliments and bright eyes. You don’t deserve it, the blood from your gums and bruises on your knuckles. You’re a punching bag for thirsty hands, so be still and smile, while they sock you and kick you in your stomach.

Hunch over, cough and be glad some one needs you that much. To hurt.

No one is going to love you that easy. No one is going to whisper into your neck the things that keep them awake at night . They are going to give you what you ask for, body and empty tongues. You are an apology desperate for ears. Every time you walk with your head up and your headphones singing you into clothes of confidence. They will pull your hair and drag you, they will  stain floors with your weakness.  

So look down, watch your shoes and be glad to be a stain that will never wash out. 

No one is going to wish on stars for your eyes. No one is going write love letters to your heart’s mail box. They will rob your house and leave you with only echoes. They will smash your windows and still no one will hear you. You are a gold mine and they will disable all the explosives and take all you got. 

Stay still, don’t scream for rain and be glad for gardener’s rough hands.

Because they will not smell your flowers with eyes closed and stroke petals with gentle hands. They will not pick you first, they will not pick you at all. They will stomp you out and leave you like a yard heaving for landscape. They will not search for your feet to fit in glass slippers. 

After the second time you are not a whimpering apology with tearful eyes. You are a crime scene with no clues. After the second time You are an unsolved mystery. No one will ever find out why. You are bruised and broken, but one day someone will close the case.

So carry band-aids in your purse until then.

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