i once had a whole heart.
i grew into it- made
it breathe and pulse with life.
i nurtured it and worked
hard to make sure it could
flourish. after all, the
reaped benefits of life
i received were always
worth it. and then i met
you.

and i greeted you in
to my heart with open
doors to all four chambers.
i gave you life because
i first thought you were a
blessing sent from heaven
above. how foolish i
was- even the devil
was once a beautiful
angel.

when you became
abusive i tried to
shut you out, but you had
already pried open
every possible valve
and bound my arteries
and veins. i was fatigued
with heartbreak and i cried
when my feeble heartstrings
broke.

even when i was hunched
over in pain from them
physically snapping, still
then i couldn't fight back
because it was too late—
you had taken over
every aspect of my
soul. your onslaughts had
no trouble defeating
me.

you were relentless- you
knew that your sweet soft talk
and sly smirk were weapons
of mass destruction that
incapacitated
my very cells. and yet
you tried to validate
and convince me that your
crimes could be excused as
just.

you paid me with gifts of
jewelry and made
me love letters that i,
having always been the
naive believer who
still tried to see the best
sides of people and life,
caved and foolishly gave
you leeway to my soul
for.

so you started taking
over my heart and blood
until it beat only
for you as i tried to
cling onto the last few
capillaries of what
used to be the organ
i once cherished and knew,
but is now under your
reign.

but you demanded more
and even now, even
when you say you admit
and acknowledge all of
your wrongdoings, you still
try to dominate my
poor heart completely and
monopolize the few
struggling heartstrings i have
left.

you have the nerve to try
and hide the crimes you are
committing even at
this very moment, and
i don't know how long i
can withstand you but i
am tired of your abuse
and i have long since stopped
loving you, for you hurt
me.

i once had a whole heart.
but now have little left
and i don't wish to die
at your cold hands. there is
only one last thing i
am able to say with
the last few beats of my
heart to you, or just to
anyone who sees my
pain:

save me.

-when i romanticize native american suffering, suddenly everything makes perfect sense, doesn't it?