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Michael Matthews Nov 2021
Waking to blinding pain
No idea why the beating
The parent just swinging
The words coming from their mouth
Talking about how worthless you are
How you was a mistake
How you ruined everything
As you look at where the pain is
You notice the streams of blood
Blood running down your legs
Your stomach, your arms,
And your back.
All this pain and torture
Simply because you was born
And the parent that day decided
To drink alot and focus their anger on you.

Written by
Michael Matthews
Wrote this about the abuse I went through growing up.
OV Dec 2018
Beat her till her skin breaks loose
Tell her you love her
Kiss her wounds and eat dinner
its a shame that people get to that point sometimes.
Julie Murphy Jun 2018
She stares at the clock while shaking
He might not like what shes making
She checks last nights bruise is hidden
Not answering his call is forbidden
She does everything he tells her to do
If she doesnt he beats her black and blue
She believes she deserves what he gives her and the fault is all her own
He wouldnt have had to punch her
If only she picked up the phone
She hears footsteps in the hallway
And she knows he's almost there
She stands to greet him in the doorway
And pretends that she still cares
There's a tiny stain on the carpet
And she cowers on the floor
He doesn't know if shes breathing
As paramedics knock on the door
She lays in bed in the hospital
Unable to see what he's done
Hes sorry, and she forgives him
But she buys herself a gun
When he wont eat what she's making
Instead of cowering and shaking
She protects herself with the trigger
And puts a bullet in his brain
She'll spend a lifetime in prison
But he will never beat her again

Copyright Julie Murphy 2018
Feedback welcome and taken on board
kathryntheperson May 2018
in this toxic love
i held so close
i gave you the power
to destroy me
to change everything i am
your anger, a beast wielding in your fists
would come out to play
your words lash at my heart
your fists swing and strike
precisely pounding again and again  
leaving me bruised and branded
leaving you crying and in pieces
blinded by love
comforting the man who had just finished beating me
i must be crazy.
IamThatGirl May 2018
welcome to a house of terror, 
we are a family of smiling wall starers, 
this is a happy life you know, 
and this happend just a couple of years ago, 

I used to wake up and get dressed, 
hide from all of the rest,
as I speed away to school, 
I only felt like the world was cruel, 

when I finally go there, 
I used to hide next to the toilet-chair, 
because I needed some seconds to beath, 
before I went out and joined the heat. 
pushed, teased, beaten, kicked, defeat, 
I stood my grounds my my heart fell down. 

I went home thinking my day would come around, 
but it never did, I was always hellbound, 
nasty words and beatings was my usual greetings, 
until I took that gun and POPPED, 
no, but I wish I wouldnt have stopped, 

because now I still live in fear,
and I always wounder if the end is near.
This is a day in my 13year old life or well every in almost my entire life
alexandra May 2017
this
this is for the girl who equates a shove to the wall and stumbling on the sidewalk as both minor interruptions to her day
because it's your fault, isn't it?
it's your fault that you smoked one last cigarette on the balcony that to take the edge off
to numb yourself to his hands
how did it feel in that moment when his hands lost touch
your legs gave out
you were swimming in the sky three floors above the cement
was it peaceful for you to experience a high not accompanied by bruises
when you woke up in the hospital, the first thing you saw
was his face
devilish eyes now formed into puppy dog's eyes gaze down at you
he says he loves you
you forgive him and convince yourself that he really meant it
just like you really meant that cigarette to be the last one your lips ever touched
He peeks down under your paper hospital gown and sees your bruises he'll tell you you're **** even in the fluorescent love and you count down the minutes until he has his way with you again
he likes his *** filled with blood and anger
you are more of a fine wine with gentle frisky after tastes
he is the cheapest whiskey at the liquor store down the street
you know this because your kisses are never sweet
your lover's mouth is just a battlefield
all it is is a pouch with remnants of all the  shot glasses piled near the sink
he sees your wounds as trophies and grimaces,
daydreaming of when the canvass will turn white again and he can paint his masterpiece over and over again
what he doesn't see is the roots in your broken pelvis
you are an oak darling with no room to grow
any whining and your kid doesn't eat for a night
you are doll with skin tanned to a crisp and silicone planted in your chest like fake flowers planted in real soil
he tells you to hold your head up and do what he says
don't make noise
because your son is sleeping two feet of drywall away
that doesn't stop him and nor can you
you've become numb to the feeling of hands all over you
your eyes roll back into your head
not out of pleasure, certainly this is not about you
they roll because they are so used to see beads of sweat mixed with fake tan
his gold chained dog tag hangs in the space between your bodies

he's wearing his cologne
that awful brand you never liked because he smelled like papyrus
he smelled pure and good

but even the strongest perfumes can't outweigh the smell of blood that is caked under his fingernails because he was too tired to shower
but not tired enough to beat you into the corner of the living room
your son is still sleeping in the room next to you
you see the ***** syringes lying on the bathroom floor
and the pills on the dresser
you see his muscles get larger
and your heart smaller
he'll make you feel special, though
because not every girl gets a broken nose for Easter
Ralph w Huber Apr 2017
She carries her burdens across the back of a child.
Rightfully hers to bear but her mind has gone wild.
Scarred  grows his mind afraid of life so uncertain.
But she couldn't switch the soul of the carrier of her burden.
A switch is a limb pulled from a tree
Luna Craft Jun 2016
There is a strange feeling of contempt in my home
I've grown used to the beatings
Whether it be a tongue lashing or being dragged across the halls
Both feel the same, I no longer cry, I feel only emptiness
I expect it now, the scent of bourbon seems to follow it home
It clings to all life and ***** it dry, a concubine not fit to marry
We keep it in our closets, behind shallow doors that do not shut
As if to hide them.
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