Let the Battle Begin

She plays with the ends of her hair and laughs out loud;

I am careful to hide the crooked smile of which she is somehow proud.

She loves colors and dresses she can twirl in;

I drown in  dark colors and drab cardigans.

She pushes up with laughter, love , and sound;

I stay quiet, emotions stewing, and push her down.

We argue constantly I usually win.

She tries to shine brighter, I am the dim.

She believes Love is what is helping our father get through the Drug addiction.

I believe Love is nothing but a work of fiction.

I think Love is what brings people close enough to get hurt;

I don't try to make connections. I keep my answers curt.

 I keep to myself. I keep my heart warded.

I walk around my face blank. Opinion and feelings guarded.

She always cares and loves freely.

I follow to protect her, "This girl isn't thinking clearly!"

I make sure to stay one step ahead,

Not allowing her to see the world, not yet.

I do the opposite of what she feels.

I tie up the boots when she goes for the heels.

She likes the way her lips look in red.

I put on the lightest Chapstick instead.

I sit in church go down on my knees.

Instead of looking at the reward, she pays attention to the fees.

The pastor opens his mouth speaks of creation and sin,

She smirks she wants to introduce him to her pal Darwin.

She believes in what he says but she knows she's entitled to an opinion too.

She wants to live her life on her terms not within someone else's rules.

She hates the fact that they prohibit her movement, prohibit her to dance.

She loves the feeling of the beat of the music; she wants to take that chance.

As she listens to the music; steps towards that outreached hand,

I push her back firmly,  "Do not dance!" I demand

"We don't know to, we can't by the way"

I pin her to the sidelines, I don't let her stray.

Yet she continues to push the limits, the ones I created.

She doesn't  believe that hopelessness, distrust, and facts are for what we are fated.

She roots herself in emotion, risks, and the subjective.

I keep my boundaries in the distant and the objective.

She takes his hand and feels secure.

I shrink away, it's more than I deserve.

She laughs and firmly pushes him onto the bed.

I waver than... no. I politely shake my head.

I'm tired of following her, I want to quit.

She turns and challenges me to a battle of wits.

The winner of the round will take control of the mind

the other must submit to being left behind.

I growl at her, trying to hide that I’m afraid.

She smiles back refusing to take part in the charade.

I hold on to the filter, my last wavering shield.

She skims my life , she knows the field.

I look up see her face and catch my breath. I prepare to fight.

She frightens me, for she is who I am in the direct light.

 In the end ,I give in, I resign.

In the grand scheme the great design,

the love she swears by that grand connection,

might be our one and only redemption.

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