Ivy


There is so much he would hurt for her
and so much of her he would hurt.
Her smiles thrown in another direction
and the Green prickles behind his eyes.

Sharp words shot in shouts
And subtle hurts hissed in whispers
meant to bite, the Green stings;
strangling sunlight with fanged leaves.

Matching marks; mutilations
from poisoned thoughts in the root of his mind
cut in the flesh of her heart from thorny vines

wound tight, tighter
to hold over-close:
possess and constrict and own.

He wants her, but not her wants,
needs her, but neglects her needs.
And through it all she smiles,
because “that’s just how boys are.”

Many small stings split and scar
but, that’s just how boys are.
That’s just how boys are.

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