I’m putting on my perfume
as you enter the bathroom
“Smells like cancer,”
was your answer

Wish I’d been fearless
against your meanness
instead of hurt and speechless

“I never hit you”
That’s true
That’s not what you do

Words, not fists, you use
to lie,
to confuse
to strike
and abuse
Words don’t leave a bruise

“*****” is not my name
“****,” more of the same
But you have no shame
“Just a fight,” you claim

“You’re just sensitive”
You told me
And I accept that excuse
for years of emotional abuse

I stay
until one day
I’m brushing my teeth
as our son enters the bathroom,
“Why is dad always mean to you?”
Those words became the straw
that broke the camel’s back

And now me and my perfume
are never coming back


© 2025 Joan Zaruba. All rights reserved.