I got drunk
and I yelled at you
for picking him
over me.
I should have yelled
earlier
I should have yelled
sober.
I should have yelled
at him
and not you.
I should have yelled
years ago.
Back when it would have made
any difference at all.
I should have yelled
to the police
instead of staying.
Police reports
would have made you
believe me
instead of
him.
I should have yelled
when you called me the bigger person.
I am not the bigger person.
I am so small

When I think of him I see bruises
Like immortalized fingerprints against skin
Only there's nothing lovely about it
They color her chest
But she never winces
Because to her that's his kind of "I Love You"

Somewhere along the road he traded hugs for hits
Picking her apart bit by bit until the clam opened
And he took her pearl
No longer did he kiss her lips unless it was to draw blood
And every time he held her waist
He left indents on her skin

She said she had nowhere else to go
But the truth was she didn't want to leave
Because every word spewed in anger
Meant one more rose to add to her collection
Apologizes were his favorite hello

Her tears were the soundtrack to his dreams
Each night a weeping tune
Flowed from her and into him
He never realized how soon he'd grow to love it
She was nothing but entertainment
How much could she be played
Before he broke her strings

She never wanted help
He never tried to withhold his ugly nature
When I see him I think of bruises
And the wonderful woman who wears them

I wish I had a photographic memory so I could remember everything you said to me, you say you don't **** with anyone else but remember the time when you couldn't say it yourself? I can see through your lies, when you're standing my her side, you look at her like you're hypnotized and I can see it in your eyes.
I wish I didn't care about where you are or who you're with because no mater what it always comes to this. we fight and forgive but the bad memories stand out more, you think you're so strong while I'm laying broken on the floor. I hope you know you get less closer to the so called heaven each time you use your fists as a weapon.

Who knew… (Part 1)

Such a day would come
Where I find myself feeling guilty, alone and burdened by memories of you
Of us..
I did I best to be your girl and then one day your wife
At the tender age of 19
What did I know back then?
But it had been one of the best days of my life
I never looked back since
I thought my life had been set
But soon enough problems began to trickle into our small perfectly built-up world

The voice you so dearly loved and longed to hear over the phone suddenly sounded too shrill to you and annoyed you out of your mind
The eyes you looked into so deeply at times had soon turned into a sickening shade of purple—which you say was just the result of anger
The lips you so tenderly locked with your own—was ripped and bleeding
The body you loved to kiss and caress all of sudden repulsed and one fine day you decided that it would now serve as your new punching bag

Swinging to the left, then to the right
Punching up then down
You did what you thought was right
To see me so small and broken forcibly pushed to the corner
Brought you immense pleasure, to this day I cannot imagine why
Everything I did angered you
Nothing was ever good enough and everything was always flawed
My words were just useless noises filling up the air
Conversation had turned into torture
Every minute I spent with you lasted longer than the previous one
But living under the same roof was unbearable

Can you imagine, everything took place in the same house I had so lovingly decorated to my heart’s content
The place I spend my first days as a newly married bride
Was now broken and unrecognizable
The walls that once bared memories was now artfully decorated with holes from the endless hours of fighting
Streaked with blood from a sucker punch or kick one too many
Furniture we had bough to together now lay ruined and in pieces from the strength you didn’t know you had
Clothes which had selected for me with artistic eye and keen sense of fashion often ended ripped and torn from your groping hands and angry fits
The jewelry you surprised me with when traveling one of the many places in the world (Paris/Rome/Mexico/) now glittered in a thousand broken shiny pieces

But I picked myself up and shook everything off
Thinking that this was fate and what we were going through was just a rough patch and that hopefully one day everything would go back to normal
I took a deep breath and move forward
Never letting my patience waver or my temper rise
And helped you to your feet

I listened to your worries
I shared your burdens
I basked in your glory
I loved you when you were feeling down
And supported you during your times of need

But what did all that do
Our happiness was always so short-lived
For days to a month at home
Until the vicious cycle began all over again

Enid's old man
gives me the stare
as we pass
on the stair

I know he's
whacked her
for sure
after the cinema date

and coming back late
but he says nothing
his the silent glare
as if he could scare

I walk on up
and he goes down
that cocky way
he has of

walking away
that Bogart stare
to my Elvis smile
at least for a while

I look down at him
from the balcony
as he crosses
the Square

and off out
of sight to
work or play
as any other day

I wait to be sure
he won't return
then go to Enid's door
and knock and wait

no one comes
all is quiet
no answer
to my knock

so I knock again
and her mother comes
and pokes her head
around the door

and says
what do you want?
how's Enid?
I ask

best go
or her father'll know
and give us
both another blow

I stand my ground
and give her a stare
where is she?
is she ok?

her mother sports
a blackened eye
he might return
she says

he's gone
I watched him go
I say
she sighs

and calls
ENID
and walks past me
to the balcony

and looks over
Enid comes to the door
red eyed
and a swollen lip

can you come out
and play?
I ask
her mother

walks back
to the door
and says
not today

now go away
I lean towards Enid
and kiss her cheek
and touch her hand

see you around Kid
I say
then her mother
closes the door

and reluctantly
I go away.

Ingrid sports a black eye;
she looks like a panda.

She said she walked
into a door;
she doesn't lie
convincingly.

I know her old man;
I passed him
on the stairs of the flats;
his beady eyes
drinking me in,
giving me the cold glare,
the cold shoulder.

We walk through the Square,
off to the shops.

What happened to your eye?
I ask again,
studying the black
and slightly green;
walking beside her,
passing the milkman
and his horse drawn cart,
the horse wearing
a nosebag of food,
ignoring us.

I walked into
the bedroom door,
she says,
knowing I don't
believe her,
looking sheepish,
knowing
I guess the truth.

What have you got
to get at the shops?
I ask.

She shows me a list
on a scrap of paper,
pencil scribbled,
in her small right hand
a handful of coins.

I passed your old man
on the stairs yesterday,
I tell her,
gave him my
Wyatt Earp stare,  
I say, he didn't care.

I note her hair
is unbrushed,
her green patterned dress
unwashed.

We cross Rockingham Street
into Harper Road.

I talked too much,
Dad said,
she confesses,
he said I yak and yak.

We pass the paper shop
and go on
to the grocer shop.

I say,
if I had your old man
in the sights
of my six-shooter gun
I'd fire a cap
up his ***;
she sniggers;
people stare at us
as we pass.