You ruffled dress.

You lip glossed, 

clean tongued, classy individual.

An ode to my innocence:

I remember my childhood through rose colored glasses.

No hurt, no tears, no worry – 

nothing I knew, I knew . . . nothing.

I lived in a utopia where

I didn’t cry myself to sleep,

didn’t tie nooses or

swallow pills for the hell of it. 

You trampled spirit.

You slave to depression.

You hot spotlight,

but hey, I didn’t want to see this anyway – 

you haven of hell.

You girl interrupted by the screaming of your own mind,

you wilted body as he shattered

any ounce of childhood you had left – 

but you deep, curved body.

You badass feline.

You know more and don’t regret it 

red lipstick, black eyeliner

queen.

An ode to my innocence:

I used to scrape the bottom of my soul,

used to pick a fight with every demon I came in contact with,

only to fall into the grave I was just trying to avoid.

I am not a greater person for losing you.

A weathered heart doesn’t make someone more beautiful.

Then again, I am stronger.

I can fight like a girl,

I can kick and bare my teeth,

I am more tiger than woman. 

An ode to my innocence:

Thank you.

RIP.