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
As the weeds grow around me
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.