It's been nearly two years since he abused me, used me but it seems to me his deed is something I now carry with me he poured concrete into my heart and let it harden into darkness at night I still feel the fight and I scream from the sharpness my veins are now a garden where his weeds are sown my bones are hollowed out and my mind is overgrown all I ever wanted was to find a home within and now I'm left bereft, my fragile heart split.
We tend to give ****** abuse a single definition that for it to count physical ******* is a given but for me, four years of conditioning to be the perfect victim meant I didn't need any violence to lie there in submission restrained by chains of denial, drugged by the promise of love my body pulled below while my mind floated above.
Only I can't help wondering through it all if I somehow caused this man's downfall that maybe I revealed a little too much so I had to yield to his hungry touch that if I had acted in a different way I wouldn't have been suffocated with this pain. The truth is victim shaming is rooted so well that the victims often blame themselves.
It took me so long to realize the flaw, and draw my own conclusions, that it wasn't what I showed, but what he saw that gave life to his delusions.