my limbs are broken and beaten and battered and my body
has been used as a wall you punch to release anger time and time
again. my mother says i wear too much makeup and it makes her
cough when i'm around, i do not bother saying what i think--
that if she saw me without makeup she would feel much worse
you apologize after, every time you say it will be the last and i just nod
numbly and pretend it is true because that is what you need,
you need me to tell you that you aren't a monster that you will get
better that this is just a phase even though it isn't
your friends ask me why i haven't left you yet, they aren't fooled by
your terrible excuses of me accidentally falling down the stairs,
and i tell them that i stay because if i don't then who will love me?
you with all your flaws still tell me i'm pretty even when i say something
wrong and you kiss the wounds you inflicted with lips so soft
i wonder if what happened before was just a sick, twisted nightmare
because how can someone as sweet as cheap wine hurt me?
but then i look into your eyes and behind the love you have for me
there is a bitter resentment towards yourself and i am reminded yet
again what you are capable of. then again, it's not as if i won't be reminded
the next time something bad happens.

(h.l.)