I stare at this monitor expecting words to just jump to my fingers and the life blood of me would spill. To NO LUCK…not a single words strokes my fancy. Not one single words rocks my boat. It is a hard time when you haven’t a reason to rhyme or a rhyme to help reason.
The questions still sequestering answers to be seen. I do not write poetry, don’t get me wrong…. I am a writer w/no where do I belong. I am the lost soul so many sing. I was the one lurking in the darkened streets; unseen. My home was my haven under the stars is where I decided to be. Away from her harming me. Away from others to see, away from everything…..even ME. I walked many a dark street….wandering…..wondering….what it would be like to be “free”. What would it be like to live in an actual family? Those years bring so many hardened tears so many fears. PTSD is what reward I got for the years of torment by her hand. The years of disappointment in my Dad. Little had I known I would repeat the cycle ever so bad……..when it came to choosing my children(s) Dad.
For now, alone on this journey….oh, understand, it has nothing to do with being strong. I am weak as they come. My heart bleeds for those who are bloodless. My soul screams & fits if she feels any anguish from the one she once kissed. I am not of strength but of weaknesses I have come to accept AND….. Yes, I speak of my heart as an entity all it’s own……why can I not think the same as my heart? She has a mind of her own; my heart. To bad rationality is not where she’s all that smart.
I close ……idk…….
I, Rose, Amongst thorns 
Well, it was still poetry, Rose. I think poetry is often ramblings, anyway….thoughts that need venting in black and white. You are not alone in propagating the mistakes you were brought up with….we do what we know. It takes a lot of understanding to break away, and that takes time. {{{hugs}}}