Growing up, she played with rag dolls

alone in her room,

with no one to talk to.

 

As she grew up she was confused and scared.

Her mother told her love was a commitment,

but she saw it as a submission.

 

As her mother rolled down her sleeves to hide what her father had created,

she promised herself she'd be nothing like her.

That is, until the day she met him.

 

His eyes were honey, and his voice was a melody.

At first he was sweet and patient, 

but it grew short when he became her ecstacy.

 

She hid the bruises and scar,

and when pain crawled in she wouldn't look into your eyes.

She claimed to understand his lies,

because she was taught that love was persistent.

So she let him release his anger.

 

His words were not of love or soothment, but of knives to the heart,

his eyes did not glow when he saw her, but turned to stone,

his body did not shake of excitment around her but of anger.

 

It took bravery for her to leave,

but it even if it hurt, it was for the best.

Without realizing it,

she had become the rag dolls she once adored.

 

Now I know love is kind and respectful.

It is not jealous or angry

Love is safe,

Love is my anchor.