You protect this behaviour of his,
End up letting us suffer like this,
Tears streaming down my swollen cheeks,
I vow to not let the anger unleash.
I know this script by heart,
and it's tearing me apart.
"Don't cry, that's what babies do."
but at the end of the day, is that really true?
My fear of my own blood, it's rational,
Flinch when you attack, it's traditional.
I look into your eyes, see something new,
not the man I thought I knew, not a clue.
On the other hand, she's too kind,
To everyone, who she thinks is by her side,
I look down to the ground, observe every trace,
Not able to look up at her or even look at her face,
Years of bottled up emotions,
I finally lash out, it clashes like an ocean,
Everyone turns their heads to look at me,
The same way I did to you, I'm not the girl they see.
The pieces shattered, scattered apart,
I fit them all together again, just like one,
the picture looks bigger, not what you'd expect.
This is way bigger than my heart,
Some pieces weren't here.. there were none.
The extra pieces I selected,
are pieces from your end, I collected.
I really wanted this poem to perfectly (or my best..) reflect the abused becomes the abuser, the extra pieces at the end are meant to symbolise the "trauma responses" and habits they learnt from their abuser. The lashing out and people looking at them the same way the person looked at their abuser is a (supposed) parallel, and how no matter how hard they try, they'll never really escape their past.
