She was an open book
He was illiterate
She was a rose
He was night
She was a square substrate
He was a circular enzyme
She was a vampire
He was garlic
She was a black girls hair
He was rain
She was a vagina
He was soap
She was a alcoholic
He was a sanitizer
He beat her
She stayed
She called it love
Really it was self-hatred
He killed her
She buried herself alive and gave him the dagger by staying
She could be the lady next to you in the bus
The one that watches your kids
Or the teller
She will die every time up until our girls learn to truly love themselves
