ATTN: This poem from one of my journals contains references to a domestic violence situation. I hope that those who read this realize that abuse from either side (man or woman) is WRONG
& in the same respect NEVER let someone use you as a punching bag. LEAVE the first time. This poem is not meant to glorify violent relationships.
I try to avoid confrontation but lately I get a strange feeling that very soon HE will happen to run into my fist
and I know that sounds crazy but every time his hands gave my lips a kiss I would clench
ready to defend myself but choosing to suppress the hatred I had within I feared the unknown, could it really get any worse than this?
but after a while fear turns into drive and when tears run dry and your done being weak
you remind him of what it feels like to succumb to defeat
now the good times are rolling lesser than few
& before I knew it my hand stretched out like his tended to
the blood from the blow spilled out & coated my hand like his tongue once coated my spine
his mouth clinched as if the impact forced him to bite his own lips that are filled with lies
I saw tears in his eyes but showed no sympathy because at that moment I enjoyed finally seeing some emotion from a man that seemed so empty
Surprised by his reaction because he thought I would've ran but I kneeled down & stretched both arms out so he could grab the last bit of love left in my hands
the same hands that held him, cooked for him, cleaned, & would stroke his back through cold & rain but my gentle hands never got his attention on those days...
I didn't know that at 21 I'd still be playing these childish games
Break up to make up to break up again pretend not to like each other & bring love taps back in, if he thought I wouldn't play along I guess he know now...
Punks jump up, to get knocked down. (Excuse my gangsta ending LOL.)
No comments:
Post a Comment