347 : bang bang, two shots fired

I don’t know if I believe in guardian angels or not, but if they are up there – 
if there’s someone keeping watch – 
then I bet she’s got a black eye, 
a bloody lip and a broken halo, 
and she claims she had an “accident on court.” 

Seven year old me,
She’d have told my sixteen year old self to leave.
It’s not that the rules were simpler then, 
or any more black and white,
but I guess I never learnt which fights to pick.
Seven year old me would have told me to be brave,
I think she was a damn sight more intelligent than I’ve ever been.

Because it was obvious, wasn't it?
That those lips of yours were liars. 
It wasn’t in what you did or did not say.
Or in how you kissed me.
It was the smile that lit up my life,
when really you had come to burn my cities down.

It took me four years to speak up.
That’s four Christmases,
Eight birthdays.
Our love was a bar fight and the alcohol slurred my words.
You were a bottle of Stella smashed over my head -
I was the drinking problem,
 that made your hands shake, 
and that you tried to drown.

Twenty year old me,
She would tell my seven year old self that you can't love anybody
if you won't love yourself. 
You can't teach a language,
that you do not know how to speak.
You and I,
we only ever spoke in tongues.