The Poetic Corner: For My Love

Her frail figure trembles as she recounts the story of her knotted past.

“I will not always be easy to hold onto,” she quietly assures.

Her heart is trickled with thorns and thistles.

The bruises have since faded.

But, they now live within, plaguing her mind, the way she views the people around her.

Her body took it “well”—she’s intelligent and inspired.

But, in those years, she rapidly faded deeper and deeper inside herself.

Some nights, she’s quiet and silently relives the violence she once had to endure.

And on other nights, she cries herself to sleep inside a home, a home that never felt much like a home.

And on other nights, she forgets how anyone could ever love someone so damaged, so broken.

Some nights, she’ll apologize and wrongfully ask you to leave, creating an interpersonal distance that is seemingly secure.

One that protects you from the poison. And you surely won’t be able to reason with her or pull her from her weeded mind.

Because you always “marry” into the family—don’t you?

And, there the problem exists. She doesn't have one. At least, not one she wishes to share.

“I’m hard to love,” she concludes sheepishly. “And I always will be.”