sierrademulder:

It will not happen the first time you forgive him.
Or the second. Or the third. It will not happen the fourth time

you break down in public. When a wine glass is broken

at a dinner party and you leave without saying goodbye.
When a car door is slammed across the empty parking lot

and you have the undeniable urge to call him. Tell him you miss him.

It will not happen when you write this poem. When you finally
claim what happened to you as if it was a child

you abandoned when you were too young to know better.

Say it: abuse survivor. Abuse survivor. You will never
want to say it. Why give your love such a dirty name?

                 It will happen when you try, so foolishly, to love another.

To crawl naked into their lap like a blind child:
this doe-eyed heart you found in the garden.

Each night, you will try so hard to touch their face.

Your fingers will shake. You will be crying and you will not
know why and it’s not their fault. It’s not their fault.

It’s not their fault they are an un-swung axe.

- Sierra DeMulder