I keep going over it all
in my head. I read this letter, how
he’s jealous of a clock. How he’s
made of the tiny things he owns,
but yet he says he cares more about
me than he does his worldly
possessions. Does that mean he cares more
about me than he does himself? In
that case, I’m worth a lot more than
I thought. Everyday. Every day. I think of you.
I was hopeful that you wouldn’t hit me with
the palm of your eye again. Your lips
and arms make my stomach convulse. And
then she touches you and I’m screaming
“No! Please. Please let me give you another chance.”
But you never. hear. me. Never. You laugh. And
if it weren’t for him, you would touch
back. Even more, probably. “It feels so
weird, going from never being touched to
being beaten."