Thank Goodness It's Winter The temperature is dropping as the days go by Leaves are withering and falling I can see my breath as I exhale, coughing Oh, how I love this weather Gloves warm my hands on the chilliest of mornings Hot cocoa fills me up with sweet warmth My scarf soothes the soreness of my neck Oh, how I love this winter I pull my peacoat over my body tightly It presses against every bruise I shake away those memories and say Oh, how I love this sweater Someone hugs me painfully I wince in pain before seeing Its my father, smiling fondly, saying Oh, how I love my daughter I grin uncomfortably at his unexpected presence Hoping he doesn't see right through my facade Praying not a hint of pain shows through Oh, how I love my father In the restroom I derobe and observe my nightly horror Arms, chest, neck, all covered in blue and purple Somehow I find optimism, I tell myself Oh, how I love my spouse Carefully, I redress in my longsleeves, scarf and coat Gazing into my own dark, dead eyes This will pass, I say with hope Oh, at least it's winter

Ugly Vase A potter places a ball of clay on his wheel and shapes it into a perfect vase. He patiently lets it set overnight before carving an intricate design into it and calling it beautiful. It's placed in a kiln and let to cool for another night. The next day he dips it into different glazes and then paints it with stain, many small gorgeous designs over every centimeter of the vase. He examines it, admires it, and places it in the kiln one last time. The following morning, when it has cooled down, the potter examines his work further. He's smiling, he's in love with this vase. It is exactly what he wanted. It is flawless in every way. But then he realizes a mistake. A speck of misplaced stain at the bottom. He pulls it far away from his face and is distraught with disappointment. How could he not have seen it sooner? This one tiny flaw, this minor mistake, has completely ruined the vase's beauty. It is worthless. He can never look at it the same way again. In the midst of his realization, he becomes enraged and throws the vase forcefully at the ground, and it shatters. He leaves. The next day he returns to his vase, still in a million pieces on the floor of his workshop. Upon seeing the pieces, the potter becomes depressed and filled with regret. "What have I done?" He says. He looks at his trembling hands with disgust and fear. In a state of panic and desperation, the potter begins to pick up the pieces of the vase and places them on his desk carefully, hoping he can manage to acquire every last piece. "What have I done?" He cries as he places small amounts of glue over every piece and attempts to piece it back together. He realizes he could never make something so beautiful again. Even with that tiny imperfection, this vase was something unique, and even though there was a chance he'd have found more imperfections, more things that only made him grimace upon looking at it, he knew that the entirety of this vase was much more beautiful than anything else he could forge. After hours of effort, the potter finally gives up, cries, and starts over. He never creates a more beautiful piece of pottery than the one he impulsively threw away.

A Promise Is Oh the fun we had So very long ago Three years have passed Where did the......fun go? Yes, I wonder why I'm sure you must too I've dealt with his abuse I haven't got a clue Excuses and excuses Like our darling son Or maybe our finances Oh, forget it, I'm done I'm sick and I'm tired I'm at my wits end The day has finally come I have a message to send He's gone! He's finally gone! I did it! I'm free! I'm crying hysterically! How happy I must be! My son, I see his fear His daddy has gone bye He mopes and whines and I don't know I gave it my best try He will know this one day Right now I know he's blue But one day I will tell him "Dad might have hurt you too."

A Pain I Can't Ignore My feet scream, plead, yearn To rest. "Sit down! Stop standing!" I must work, so sorry...

Abused You snore beside me You beat me to exhaustion I will cry alone