I spy

Here's the biggest secret of all, a boy taught me to write.

He wrote words, not of love and honor...

Betraying words of hunger and lust. He wrote it all with little honey on his tongue towards me. Some words are bore of goodness, some are carved into our flesh from pain. {here}

Much like an abusive father that begats a cycle, so do the abuse of lovely words spun into a vengeful patten. 

I wish I would have saved my words now, saved every brow beat one. To remind myself of the tale of how love is not as extraordinary as we all hope it to be.