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Nov 2013
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.
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