Before reading this I want people to know that I have never been *****. I got the inspiration for this poem from a post on tumblr.*
One After the first time he put his hands on her she never thought she'd be able to escape the grasp of the feeling she stayed up till 3:41 in the morning in the bathtub sitting in the scalding water trying to burn the dirt from her skin. she sat there until the water turned cold and she had not one tear left to cry and until her skin was rubbed raw and bleeding. she counted the bruises on her body 9 on her stomach 1 on her face 1 on her neck a yellow and purple necklace around her collar from the telephone wire he abused from the telephone she didn't dare use even after he finished manipulating her. she scrubbed his fingers from her hair but decided cutting it off would be easier she washed his yelling voice from her ears but found that screaming made him quieter she scraped his taste from her lips a dry martini a cigarette and someones tears from the past. she couldn't scrub her wrists hard enough to erase the feeling of the ropes he had her anchored with so instead she sliced the flesh of where the imprint lay attempting to release the strain from the burn marks on her skin.
Two That same morning when she almost bled out she checked herself into a hospital. They sewed up the crimson bracelets she made trapping inside of her wrists each scream he muffled with every new stitch. she guessed they figured out what happened whether it was the bruises or the way her speech sounded like morse code but they told her the police were informed and that they'd do everything in their power to find monster who opened the door to her own personal hell. When the sketch artist asked her to describe him she told her he was a photocopy the regular John Doe medium hight brown hair brown eyes nothing special or unique that would make a girl cross to the other side of the street just like she said she should have done. When they told her she needed to be inspected she didn't even flinch that seemed to be the only thing that people did these days was inspect one another for an outcome that they'll be paid for in paychecks or pleasure. They stripped her down apologizing for the cold they took pictures apologizing for the flash they held her hand apologizing for the feeling but why apologize if he already imprinted it on her body there's no going back from this she will never be able to look at a man the same way again she will always see cold hard hands on her shoulders even at the warmest touch she will only see flashes of his lips forced onto hers when she receives the smallest peck she will never be able to feel anything but a mattress beneath her back rope around her wrists and a freezing cold emptiness inside of her stomach.
Three After the second time he put his hands on her she stayed up all night in the freezing cold water not even trying to remove his mark from her. she figured that if the dirt beneath his fingernails were still there the second time the dirt would still be on her too. she let the filth engulf her telling herself that all she was was dirt anyway and as she lay with her head underwater she screamed as loud as she could for as long as she could until her face was red her voice was scratchy till the veins in her neck pulsed and when she finally sat up she was deafened by a deep silence with no more sound than rippling water and the ticking of the clock. That's when she realized that no matter how loud she screamed she would never be heard amongst other peoples silences. silences full of beeping cars and TV commercials buzzing air conditioners and clinking plates quite whispers and loud laughs full of family and friends and the whole world spinning around them. she would never matter to anyone no brakes would squeal at the sound of her desperation no ears would turn to decipher the morse code she mustered shakily from her lips no one would ever care that her screams for help were muffled and no one would have a hole in their stomach if she disappeared. at this thought she slipped deeper into the tub unwraps the bandages from around both her wrists uncovering scars that would never heal. She explored the wounds with her fingers and saw how weak the stitching was like the nurse who repaired her found it pointless and attempted it half heartedly. She discovered that pulling the dark material that was woven through her flesh would release her blood like opening a door to another universe. the purple would quickly turn to red drop slowly into the tub creating a water color painting of the war inside her head. She pinched the strings holding the two parts of her together ******* their rough surface she began to feel tired dreaming of a happier place of a happier her of feeling like a person again. she pinched the string and pulled. hard.