Something Abused Women Never Tell You

Something Abused Women Never Tell You

I am silenced and submissive
Raging inside, where beautiful ideas go to die

I’m half of myself; fractioned
Fractures hide themselves well
Collected, I am
A cool calm collection of them
The broken bits, loose screws unwinding

He says anger looks ugly on me
I stop wearing makeup and frowning, lower my voice and say please rather than fuck you

It isn’t enough.

He wants the rush, not the victory
The squeal, not the bacon
Though he enjoys both, he is satisfied
By neither, nothing, never
He bites my head off
For the volumous chew, the ratchet twist, the wretched way my body writhes with rebellion
The texture of misery is a taste he must’ve acquired

And love, you can’t imagine
But this is also what it looks like
The kind that can’t walk away
Or be firm in the boundaries
The kind that finds its secret pleasures
In the challenge of such a twisted duel
You don’t believe it and I don’t blame you
But this is love


6 responses »

  1. The duel in thought… Volatile, reactive, circling spiral in nature, the challenges too poetic, in riving conversation, interactions within the love, visual to nature, a dance amongst the landscapes changing, to entice the mind to discover, uncover, the racing tactical steps, movement between the flux of atmospheres, listening, absorbing to breathe within the heart, a constant climb, between inversions vertical, where cruxes beyond the crags, in the motion to accelerate, to slow, emotive the race, the challenges traveling, sprinting, collisions, within love…

    The poem feels so visual in nature, Brandy… The term duel stood out, with the description in being twisted. I had scenes running through my thoughts from books, and movies while visulising the nature as a physical confrontation, collisions within the nature of love, if that makes sense. A duel like in a scene where two characters face off against one another, even though they have love and respect towards one another in their own way… Does that make sense?

  2. Pingback: Conversations waiting for the inky blue. | Sean Bidd

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