honey & homesickness

learning to sleep again

I used to sleep wrapped in bandages,
Drunk, stomach full of sugar pills,
Declaring war against myself.

He found me, a veteran
Of a dirty, violent love affair,
And I've had to teach myself
That love can leave acorns
In leftover, neglected battlegrounds,
Instead of bullet casings and exit wounds
Because sometimes, gentleness
Is not only an apology,
Is not a disguise,
Is not a quiet murder.

He falls asleep with his hand
On my pillow, knuckles on my cheek,
And I've had to learn that hands
Are not gravestones,
Are not broken promises,
Are not lies to be forgotten.

His voice is not a battle cry,
And I've had to learn that my anger
Is a dusty weapon I no longer need,
Is a rusty dog tag I no longer wear,
Is the revenge I no longer crave.

His arms are a place,
Where I can catch my breath again,
Where I can let myself sleep,
And I've had to learn not to tell myself
That this love is more than I deserve.