Her Love

I want to be outside picking avocados and oranges

from your tree

in a sundress with stains of dirt and grass from weeding the garden you planted for me

to tend

for you.

As the weeds grow around me

and you

and our home,

the sun burns my neck and my back and my face.

I get burned. Burned badly every day. Each and every day.

Burned by my lover protector savior

when he comes home to see the beauty shot from my body.

I have hands. I have eyes. I have heart.

But beauty in any I have not.

He took it from me

with the greatest of ease he asked for my hand and I opened my soul for the raping.

Raped and beaten and bruised each day.

Loving my work, I continue. I pick the avocados. I pick the oranges. I pick my wounds.

I pick myself up.

I pick him.

Because he picked me.

 

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About heathencomehome

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