Broken beneath

I keep finding my way here, this place where I ought to fear.

Perhaps, it is because of how you caress my neck, or rest your head on the bossom of my chest.

I shouldn't even be here, yet my legs are stretched on the brown table as though it is my safe haven.

I am waiting for your kisses, your warm embrace, your cuddles and glances.

I am waiting to hear you say sorry for the bruises you caused.

I am waiting for the plaster to go off.

I know I should expect a scream or two when I fumble or go beyond my limit, maybe a hit that follows by a pause, then I have to watch you walk while I clinch to my chest in pains.

I don't know why I still stay.

My heart clinches in fear these days.

But I like the way you pull me to bed, intensely stroking my flames, making me loud and forgetting the pains.

I'd like to leave, but I doubt if i would find my way.

It's not just the way that you touch me.

Or love me, or remember my name when the world has forgetten, it's how I like to think you know my depth, my sins, fears and insecurities.

Not very often do you find apology wrapped in egg sauce or goat meat with orange juice.

I doubt you have ever seen 'i am sorry' presented by gold pendant, and cat pity eyes.

I am still finding my way out or am I ?

This looks like a crown I can wear, as long as you still call me bestest, honey boo, mummy. 

As long as you consider my opinions and respect our bed.

As long as you don't leave me here.

Oh, perhaps, I should leave?

What then would the world say of me?

Ye, my daughter thou art worthy of a life without bruises!!!!! 

Nay, nay, shall I repeat.

Goodness haven't found me, I am broken beneath.

This too shall pass.

Oh no, that's a big lie.

I don't know my way.