The bones and bruises heal.
They need only a little time.
And though you may not see my scars
It can’t erase your crime.
Your hands could reach to hold me
And make me feel so dear.
Or close around my throat so tight
‘til death itself was near.
You took my life within your grasp.
You assaulted every part.
Reminding me every single time
I lived on only through the goodness of your heart.
I have often wondered how I survived when
against the wall you had me flung,
with the end of your 12 gauge
resting neatly on my tongue.
So many times I envied your strength.
I’d watch you work in awe.
I would have killed for some if it
The day you broke my jaw.
Blackened eyes, bleeding lips,
Bruises from your kick.
Broken ribs and bite marks,
My injuries were yours to pick.
Your fists, your boots, your guns and knives.
You had so many props for your play.
I was nothing but your puppet
And my dignity was the price to pay.
You had many tools within you
To take away my pride.
And when your anger had done it’s deed,
You…simply cried.
Nine years of joy you stole from me.
Your crimes live on today.
I still flinch or duck at any
sudden movement in my way.
I cry today, my own tears of joy
For I am getting well.
But you and your decaying disease
Are in danger of burning in hell.
Author = IAmShePoet
Recommended Reading:
"The Gift of Fear" by Gavin DeBecker
"When Violence Begins At Home" by K. J. Wilson
"Surviving Domestic Abuse" by Elaine Weiss
