You ruffled dress.
You lip glossed, 
clean tongued, classy individual.

An ode to my innocence:
I remember my childhood through rose colored glasses.
No hurt, no tears, no worry – 
nothing I knew, I knew . . . nothing.
I lived in a utopia where
I didn’t cry myself to sleep,
didn’t tie nooses or
swallow pills for the hell of it. 

You trampled spirit.
You slave to depression.
You hot spotlight,
but hey, I didn’t want to see this anyway – 
you haven of hell.
You girl interrupted by the screaming of your own mind,
you wilted body as he shattered
any ounce of childhood you had left – 
but you deep, curved body.
You badass feline.

You know more and don’t regret it 
red lipstick, black eyeliner
queen.

An ode to my innocence:
I used to scrape the bottom of my soul,
used to pick a fight with every demon I came in contact with,
only to fall into the grave I was just trying to avoid.
I am not a greater person for losing you.
A weathered heart doesn’t make someone more beautiful.
Then again, I am stronger.
I can fight like a girl,
I can kick and bare my teeth,
I am more tiger than woman. 
An ode to my innocence:
Thank you.
RIP.