Enter Home Planet News Poetry of Issue #6                         Page 42
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There was never a way,
To predict,
That your face would disappear,
My conscience.
Phone poles were destroyed.
The only way,
To communicate,
Was to scream in the
Stoplights were shattered.
There was never a way,
To predict,
That your ending,
Was my Beginning.
The only thing I knew back then,
Was how to bleed,
In a beautiful way.
I went to church at 13,
Where I was taught,
To turn the other cheek.
When you hit me,
I dragged you off the pedestal,
And I turned the other cheek.
My preacher told me,
As a young lady,
My future was to be a servant,
I was to be,
A servant to the Lord,
A servant to my husband,
A servant to my children,
That was my future.
That was never my future.
When the storm passed through,
I stole your house key,
Hopped a plane,
And I left.
I didn't know back then,
That scars would teach me more,
Then textbooks.
I didn't know back then,
My fight,
Could never erase,
My womanhood.
I know now.
Killing you in my mind,
Was not a sin.
When you died,
I discovered,
I am not a broken down doll,
Plastic arms and legs,
Floating in the storm.
I am not a servant,
Holding a Bible,
And a broom.
I am.
I need only my heart,
To battle

  Elizabeth Stansberry