You made a mess of my heart.
It wasn’t okay then,
but it is now.
I survived what I thought
was an unmanageable catastrophe,
and after cleaning up pieces of myself
I realized, I never needed you.
You’re not wanted here
unless you want your heart
on the floor in my possession.
I walk around in black leather lingerie,
and thigh high heels.
I am bold.
I am confident.
I am adequate.
Everything you hate.
Wearing nothing for you to grab
I know your tricks now.
Gun and knife holstered on my thigh,
at hands reach for the day you try
and break down my door.
Welcome home honey.
Second Chances, page 105
J. Saunders
