You asked me how to love
when you were only five.
I was eleven when my mom had you
the product of someone
who wasn't my father too.
Still, our eyes are the same,
they are three different shades of blue.
So when you asked me this I was lost.
You didn't know I never knew
of the love in real life
much less in fairytales
that flit across the T.V. screen.
You couldn't know that I cry at night
because when I was twelve
no one could hear my scream
because his hand covered my mouth.
You can't know when I was only seven years old
my parents split.
I blamed myself.
You shouldn't have to know
what it feels like
to have innocence taken
when you're only three
because that boy wanted to see me.
And on my life you will never know pain.
I'm not talking about a scrapped knee,
your boyfriend breaking up with you,
or even if family dies.
These are inevitable.
I'm talking about feeling so alone
you turn your head,
see a knife,
and even consider that to be a way out.
I'm talking about
saying "NO" and still feeling his touch
in a place never designed for him.
So when you asked me what love was
I couldn't tell you of romance
or fairytales.
I told you of me.
I told you that you were never alone
because my hand,
steady like gravity,
was always yours to hold.
I told you of sleep overs
held in my new house
when I could afford to move out.
And I told you of tears
that would fall when I could see you
after coming back from my job.
You see I know nothing of romantic love
but I know that I can love you
because we have the same eyes
passed down from our mom.
