Lover

Some haunting-story strokes my arm

And begs so softly, “name me, mother,”

I pull my flesh from dissonant harm

And beat the tale back to be told by another.

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Tensed up

At night, alone, the fear sneaks in

The worry and defense creep up my sleeves

They corner every vein and artery,

Demanding my breath and my sanity.

I will not give in, I will not give up

Love is not wrong, or evil

It floods

Love renews and restores and heals

Love is the warrior facing this fear.