Feb 2017
I was a new paintbrush.
In the beginning, there was so much potential in his promises.
He was to create alluring artwork from my bristles,
vowing beautiful blues and pleasant pinks would tickle me
and yet the memories of baneful, bitter blacks darken my mind.
When artwork went wrong, I was to blame,
slammed against the wall and used to stab canvases,
he took his anger out on me.
He splintered me and broke me,
yet I am still held accountable for his wrongful accusations.
My only hope was that he would clean up his chaotic mess
but my bristles are stiff and stained with snapshots of
his haphazard hand wrapped around my neck.
I am a used paintbrush.
In the beginning, there was so much potential in his promises.
He was to create alluring artwork from my bristles,
vowing beautiful blues and pleasant pinks would tickle me
and yet the memories of baneful, bitter blacks darken my mind.
When artwork went wrong, I was to blame,
slammed against the wall and used to stab canvases,
he took his anger out on me.
He splintered me and broke me,
yet I am still held accountable for his wrongful accusations.
My only hope was that he would clean up his chaotic mess
but my bristles are stiff and stained with snapshots of
his haphazard hand wrapped around my neck.
I am a used paintbrush.
Abusive relationships are difficult to recover from.
