Benjamin seduced me 
As I held him between my finger tips
So smooth with crisp edges 
Promising happiness 
Telling me I held the world in my hands 

He gave me a mansion
6 bedrooms, 7 bathrooms
4 bars, 4 fireplaces 
A pool, pool house, and indoor basketball court 
But when I sat outside my mom’s bedroom door, 
Crying out to her, “Mom, don’t do something stupid, please”
Paralyzed with fear, trembling at the thought of losing her 
My mansion didn’t intervene 

When my mom screamed, “I hate you”
Not one of the 6 bedrooms erased her words,
Leaving me curled up in a tiny closet
With my arms wrapped around my knees,
Each elbow touching a wall
Alone with the echoing of her words, Sobbing,
But my Father filled that closet with love
While my empty, desperate soul soaked it up like a sponge 

When my dad took me in the shower
And made me want to disappear
Benjamin didn’t protect me
Or stop my innocence from washing down the drain
But 13 years later, you father,
Removed the veil of pain that covered my heart
The pain held behind my eyes evaporated
Leaving sunflowers against clear blue skies 

When my mom drove us to apartments
And bridges and threatened that we would live there
If my grandparents stopped supporting us,
Benjamin didn’t protest.
Benjamin controlled our life
Persuaded my family into the illusion
That paper represents love
And can give you the world
Enslaving us to him

He gave me a brand new red
4-door jeep wrangler

But when Husband #3 lied to my mom,
And said I called her a terrible mom
And I was kicked out
My wrangler didn’t reveal the truth
When my dad broke his promises
Over and over
Shattering my heart
Benjamin just stared at the shards 
But you, my Father, waited for me to hand over the pieces
Then you gently fused them back together  

When my friend died at 22
In a freak accident
Big Red didn’t bring her back
Or give me a chance to say goodbye
But you showed me the uncertainty of our days
The importance of what we do today, not tomorrow  

He gave me an airplane and
Vacation homes

But when Husband #3 tried to strangle my mom
And she contemplated staying
And my dad wouldn’t let me live with him
My airplane didn’t rescue me

When he blamed me for the divorce
And sent me death threats, dead animals and drugs,
Benjamin remained silent

He gave me a boat

But when I was injured
Crushing my Olympic dream
Ripping my world away from me
Benjamin was no where to be found 

He gave me laptops, Burberry coats,
Jewelry, and clothes

But when my dog died in my arms
My laptop didn’t dry the tears
That dripped down my face and soaked my sweatshirt 

When I had seizures
And the doctors thought I had a brain tumor
Money didn’t promise more days
Or give me peace
But you reached down from your throne
And wrapped your arms around me
You showed me I don’t belong here
I’m not afraid to live, because I’m not afraid to die
I’m not afraid to go home

I waited for Benjamin to give me the world
Clenching onto his promise
Like a child with a security blanket
Until it was ripped from my hands
Leaving me with nothing 

But what did he really ever give me?

You hold my hand when I walk through tunnels of darkness
When I stumble, you pick me up
When I wander, you bring me back
When I complained I didn’t want to bear the cross I’d been given
You reached down and rocked me back and forth like a baby
You comforted me, and when I least deserved it,
You whispered, “I love you, my child. Trust me.”

And so I will. Lead me wherever you may.