Her love ever growing like a seed
Her love strong and sturdy like a rock
Her love shattered and incomplete

An unappreciated beauty yet forever appreciated only for her beauty. Their stares will hold her hips tighter than she would ever allow me to. Their lust grips her tighter than she would ever hold my hand. Their misdeeds will forever be my punishment for caring, as men enter and exit her heart like Walgreens, fast, convenient, and always open. They take from her shelves and leave empty, leave nightmares, leave self hate, leave mistrust.

She will cry glass because regular tears aren’t tough enough to let herself get away with being vulnerable. I will sweep her glass until she feels need to cry again. I will fill her shelves with my all, my stories my secrets, my accomplishments, my love and even this stupid poem that will make no difference because my love is too new to heal old wounds. Time doesn’t heal all wounds; sometimes they just fester and get infected.

She braves through, raging and frozen with no mercy like Chicago winters. She endures pain. Mother’s punches, Daddy’s neglect, her ex’s leftover feelings branded deep into her skin like tattoos, and my inability to shield. That’s why I write. I am no more than her witness, who chronicles the story of a girl strong enough to endure every man’s lust and lack of feeling but not strong enough to look in the mirror and say I love you. Whose reflection causes more disgust than cps lunches. Whose body and soul have been used but never loved until me. One who is not only oblivious to her beauty but her also her talent. Her karate, music, intelligence, vast and limitless, elegant, eloquent, but theses words fall on deaf ears. For to mea woman’s worth is not measured by the size of her behind but in the capacity that she loves. Mind you she will never believe me when I tell her this. Too many times have other men told her otherwise just keep her around. I pray one day soon that she will be willing to listen.