the first time, your fist touched my face
when i was checking the mail
the papercut on my finger couldn’t hold
against the black skin under my chin

the second time, your hand grabbed my arm
your fingers left marks
like toaster burn and clenching jaws
like you thought i was a wet rag
needing to be wrung out

the third time, turned into the fourth and fifth
my ribs couldn’t hold my lungs inside
and my wrist was torn of skin
claw marks complimented my arm
like a tattoo or a tiger’s rage

the sixth time was just like the first
all fist and cheek,
bone and tooth
this is not fight club
but we still do not talk about it.

*(a.m.c.)