(originally written 09/29/16)
Another Sunday at work with your brown eyes
forcing me into the candy closet to make you
seem a little sweeter than you actually are to me.
You gave me chocolates, and a yellow rose,
my (your) favorite, on Valentine’s Day
to make my problems disappear that I had yet to face.
Is that why you punched me in the face
with your vocal chords screaming I look prettier with black eyes
instead of green, I don’t know what’s worse–you
telling me to kill myself or you telling me
“I love you”. both made me stand limper than a dead rose,
a yellow rose, like the one you gave me on Valentine’s Day.
I’m used to it, I know, but February 14th isn’t the day
I’d expect to have such a sore, fractured face
from feeling your words stab me with the daggers in your eyes,
carving into my heart as if it’s an empty slate, and you
never fail to surprise me,
whether it’s with yellow cheekbones or yellow roses.
It wasn’t until days after that you arose
from the silence and decided you wanted me for the day,
or at least the hour, so you looked up and grabbed my face
and whispered your intentions into my eyes,
one black, one blue, none green, the idea that life without you
was worse than life without me
Why do you always do this to me?
Your heart is nothing but blank paper and those roses,
dead. And although I may hate you today,
I’ll wake up tomorrow longing for your face
next to mine giving me one more slap with “I
hate you” before I’ve completely lost you.
I’m kept alive by your “I don’t need you”
but poisoned of the love sent from you to me
I pricked my fingers on your stupid roses
and tripped over your harsh throat every day
I spent bleeding and breaking beneath your face,
I was a dying light to your dark, brown eyes.
I learned a raised voice beats the face
of innocence and shatters glass eyeballs. You
taught me that last year, on Valentine’s Day.