Trust

Do it too much and others hurt you

Do it not enough and you hurt yourself

Too late for me, those words echo through my thoughts.

I remember feeling pulled and pushed: wanting him, yet not wanting him.

Listening to his words that sounded soothing, yet some how off.

Hearing what I wanted to hear and ignoring all else.

Trusting my fate to him and his sweet sounding voice that was not really.

Now all has been exposed before me and I am alone.

Wondering can I ever trust someone and not get hurt.

Not sure if I can.

What's the use of hoping.

Sigh.

Good-bye.  

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Lessons Learned

At last your heart has stopped.

I was wondering how long you had left.

I had mentioned  to someone a few days before

"A week, A few weeks, a few months, a year."

It was hard to see and hear you decline.

We did not have an easy relationship,

but we could be together and be happy.

You taught me a lot; however,

it took years for me to realize that.

You did the best you could,

and I thank you with a last bye.





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Your Voice

The vibrations of your voice against my ear drums are a gentle breeze.

The sounds generated feel like a Chinook wind after some bitter cold.

The temperature of your tone soothes my chapped skin like a spring sun.

The warm love of your voice reminds me of a sunny day.







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Better

Maybe a little better now.

Life has not been so easy recently,

but your friendship helps me.

It helps me to move forward;

to keep smiling and laughing.

But what I appreciate the most

is that you listen to me

when I feel alone and afraid.

After telling you my secrets,

that you will keep, I feel better.

Sometimes a little, sometimes a lot.

But always after getting a hug from you,

I feel glad to be alive.





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Step up to Love?

Do you really love me?

You say you do, but I have been so hurt.

I want to believe you, but I cannot fully believe you.


Should I love you back?

You say yes, but my fears live within me.

I want to love you back, but pain still exists.


What do I feel?

You feel my joy and happiness, as well as my fear and pain.

I want you, but I wonder.


What should I do?

You want me to cross the bridge, but I freeze.

I thaw and then take a step.





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Take the Chance!

Take it! Take the chance!

Maybe it will work out, maybe not.

Life has no guarantees.

So what is your dream?

Then pursue it.

Try to make it come true.

Follow the path.

Change your direction, if necessary.

Life is unknown.

Embrace it.

Cherish it.

Learn from the journey.

But to pursue it, make it come true, and follow the path.

Then embrace it, cherish it, and learn from the journey.

So take it! Take the chance!





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My Fault

His dinner; my fault

I tell him why I am late with his meal:

I started it late because traffic was bad; he yells at me for not doing the errands sooner.

My voice is filled with intonated anger that sets him off.


 His slap; my fault

His palm across my face hard. Then face to face, he asks icily, "Why am I making him angry?"

I feel scared; I avert my eyes from his gaze.


His words; My fault

He takes my aversion as a sign of my guilt, so he pushes hard against the fridge.

His hand tightly on my jaw; my eyes wide with fear.

"Who is it?" he demands.

"No one..." I start to tell him, but he interrupts with an acerbic tone:  "Liar, Slut, Whore, Bitch."


His reaction; My fault

Those words break my fear and unleash a torrent of anger.

Remembering all the times, I smelled perfumes that were not mine,

I coldly answer back, "I am not the lying, slutty whoring bitch here."

I see his eyes widen with rage, and say, "I am sorry, sorry, sorry."


His torture: My fault

With one forearm holding me in place, he pulls my tube top below my breasts.

Next he twists a breast hard, causing me anguish: he smiles at my distress.

In the face of pain, defiance sets in, and I spit in his face.


His rape; My fault

He slams in fist into my face, then tosses me to the floor, and tears off my clothes.

Dazed, I do not realize what is happening at first, then I scream no, please don't.

I try to fight back, but he grabs me by the hair and slams my head hard against the floor:

Again and again, until the fight goes out of me, and he penetrates me.

After he ejaculates in me, he questions me as to why I do not respect him as I should.

After all he informs me that he respects me.


His decision; My fault

Still partly stunned, I look him in the eye incredulously and say, "You respect me?

"You respect me?" He smiles, until I start to laugh at him and his words.

Laughing, I fail to see what is coming, but I suddenly feel his hands tightly around my throat.

I futilely try to break his grip or get him off of me.

Slowly I feel myself slipping away into darkness, wishing I could prevent my impending demise,

and then as I slipp into oblivion, I have one final thought:

My death; my fault.





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