the moonlight, so bright, looking up at the sunlight,
moments that remind me that tomorrow is just a day away.

he asks me a question i don't fully hear,
throughout the noise of the people behind me.
a hand on my back, a peck on my cheek,
a whimsical feeling in my stomach.

that feeling soon turns as i feel overwhelmed,
sick feeling in your head and mine.
i can't move a muscle, not even an inch,
and he can't move himself further towards me.

a coffee shop the next morning,
cold and shaky hands.
i can't say a word about it,
and he can't help but smile.

we go to the art museum,
the one near my house.
it's loud and crowded and hopeful,
maybe today will be alright?

i find a friend in an old couple,
he takes me away from them.
i'm pulled into a public bathroom,
i throw up in the ******.

a friend touches my shoulder two weeks later,
and in my mind she did me a favour.
the next day i ring my therapist marissa,
and ask her to book me in again.

we talk and chat for hours at a time,
but never about him.
only ever about my family or friends,
but never a mention of him.

marissa dies four months in,
i feel trapped within.
no one can ever find out,
what i ever did with him.

boyfriend and girlfriend,
that's what they call us.
i feel the sickness in my stomach,
why the **** are we called that?

i write love letters in my bedroom,
to no one in particular.
hoping someone will come and save me,
from the situation i've been put in.

i'm not allowed at marissa's funeral,
or my mother's either.
he's my entire world, after all,
and i should be grateful.

i have one friend from high school,
i see her every other weekend.
with both our boyfriends in tow,
i wonder if she'll ever know.

"a girls day out," that's all she says,
wrapped her arm around mine.
"she'll be fine with me!" that's all he hears,
as we leave him for good.

i'm stood in front of her bathroom mirror,
naked and afraid.
she's looking at every single thing,
he's ever done to me.

burns from his cigarette,
bites from his own mouth.
scars from his nails,
bruises from his own belt.

"is this what love is meant to be?"
i ask her bathroom.
i finally get a response,
just a "no" and silence.

that was jamie, and he hurt me,
and i thought another wouldn't.
but it turns out years later,
i was wrong once again.

i move in with my friend,
the one from high school.
she and her boyfriend are married now,
and they seem happy too.

she tells me he beats her,
bites her a lot too.
she kicks and slaps him back,
and i convince her to leave.

in reality we were taught this,
somewhere down the line.
i guess that's why i think it's normal,
why i see it as romantic.

my parents, my friends, my family,
i see it in them all.
behind closed doors it's all the same,
something's ******* wrong.

i guess that's what's normal,
i guess that's what's true,
i guess that's what happens to girls like you.