He yells in frustration,
Or you curse out in irritation,
And I flinch because I recall

Hard fists against my hips,
And knuckles into my abdomen,
And knees into my stomach,
And open palms against my cheek bones.

And somehow it is expected of me
To not flinch in fear
At thrown objects
Or hands coming too close, too swiftly towards my face.

I am expected not to shudder in fear
At the aggravation and aggression in someones voice
When it becomes too close for comfort.

But your hands on my shoulders,
My wrists,
My cheeks softly wiping away hot tears,
Gives me the ability to block out all this
Loud.