This poem was written about a pretty scary time in my life when I was in a relationship with someone who had a monster inside of him that he let out more and more as time went on. He got physically and emotionally violent. In fact, the emotional violence started a lot sooner, maybe even almost right away. Perhaps some of you can relate, but I hope not. 

I just randomly decided to record a reading of it because I got a comment from someone here on my last random poetry reading that gave me a really nice compliment which inspired me to do one today. The poem I chose is from a collection of poems I hope to publish soon in the form of a poetry coloring book. It's currently a project on Kickstarter, so if the project gets funded, then it will be published by late spring/early summer! I'm over 1/4 funding after less than a week, so I feel hopeful, but everything helps, so if you feel interested and so inclined to dontate, check it out here:[ An Original Poetry Coloring Book](https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/180137347/an-original-poetry-coloring-book-poet-and-illustra?ref=creator_nav)! Lots of good energy and karma will float to you via the universe! If that doesn't interest you in the slightest, no worries, and just enjoy the reading :) xoxo

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![lime trees.jpg](https://steemitimages.com/DQmYc5j6SeiDsSt1wugqkLQ95UqmujhudwkcyH8X1mqmpEe/lime%20trees.jpg)

The Lime Trees


The house was falling apart. You know,
shutters dangling, closet door off its tracks, 
some wide blinking 

brown eyes through the jagged hole 
in the middle. Someone kicked it.
Chipping paint making Pangaeas

across the walls. I got lost 
peeling it like I would dead, 
sunburnt skin on my shoulders.

Leaks from where the roof was flat, 
a crack curving down the center
of the porcelain tub we used to

fill with hot water and soak 
together in overflowing bubbles
like nothing was 

wrong. Once I tried to blame
the hurricanes, but they never came,
only some heavy rain. The wind 

had been calm for a long time. Some nights 
were empty, not just the 
empty bottles around, beer, 

some rum. Part of an old poem was taped
to the fridge. It said
the physical things come first

before you ripped it down. I learned 
about the difference between love 
and attachment from a book first

and then from you. If I could only 
hate you 
for kicking the closet door 

that time you tried to 
kick my dog, 
for that time you kicked my dog.

Then she started hiding in the closet
every time you 
raised your voice.

You even kicked 
the two baby lime trees
which I bought just before you moved in

and perched with sticks until they were strong
enough to hold themselves up. You never kicked me.
As much as it might seem like I mentioned

the lime trees to serve as a metaphor for me, they’re not.
I left the day you threw a glass jar of coconut oil
at my face, which was only a day after you started 

all the kicking. I can’t say I didn’t 
cry a lot, or that it wasn’t excruciating 
to walk away and so fast. 

I did, and it was. 
But the way memory works 
is not so easy.

I still remember how you'd
hold me in your metal arms
like a magnet.