Scars

Bruises heal. Scars don't.

She still wears the scars from her previous relationship.

She is broken, and I am just picking up the pieces.

I love her and she knows that.

However she can't help her anxiety.

She can't help that she gets jealous.

She been hurt too many times

Her trust been broken too many times

She been cheated on too many times

She been hit too many times to count.

When I tell her I love her,

She doubts it, she can't help it.

When I tell her that she beautiful,

She thinks that I have an agenda.

She wonders why I am still here.

Why I look at her darkness and don't run away.

She wonders why I hold her tight,

Even though she crying for the umpteenth time.

Oh but I love her, with all her flaws and imperfection.

I don't see her past, I see a future with her.

When I speak sweetly, these words are foreign to her.

When we make love, she is surprised by my gentle touch, it is during these moments when she holds on to me tightly. What had once been a loveless act, in a loveless marriage, is now an enflamed act of passion.

But then she becomes scared, for she not accustom to a good thing, so she runs away.

However I catch her every time. For regardless of all her presumed imperfection, she is mine, and only mine.