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Bea Rae Mar 15
Why did I ever

Think you would respect my no

When I said it
Bea Rae Feb 16
Please do not worry

I will cover the rubble

That you left behind
Bea Rae Feb 11
How could I forget

Being blamed for his abuse

When I spoke of it
Carlo C Gomez Sep 2023
platonic years insurrected by civil wars (again)

one girl hit by lightning (again)

x-rays of her broken limbs painted from memory

caught between flintlock and fossil

with a just-sleepy-enough, narcotic feeling

his ghost in the sock drawer

his odd fingerprints on her luggage

the wilt of flowered books

full of wide-eyed selfies

and running scared old love letters
(or were they death threats?)

all roadblocks to her star-shaped chemical world

until her coup d'état falls helplessly into the sea (again)
Joseph C Ogbonna Jul 2023
I am his punching bag,
he punches me at will,
he punches me to vent his anger,
he does so to douse his frustrations.
He tries to regulate my emotions,
he entrenches himself fastidiously
in my life's branches.

My constant battery is his love's
To him, none else could care better,
not even my own sacrificial mum.
In my secular and public life,
his raging jealousy is hardly concealed.
I am his only mood swing's spectator,
I am enslaved by regular and
suicidal threats.
I must to his own will remain subservient
for my own dear children's survival.
Not even my domestic pets are spared.
My movement is restrained, every
friend of mine is a suspect,
and my conversations are thoroughly
His watchful eyes are never exhausted
by prying.
He makes my life a world of suspicion
and espionage.
My conscience is daily by blame overwhelmed.
I am worthless and hardly esteemed, and can on
none else rely.
I have no better friend or acquaintance than him.
My inferior gender is a social stigma,
hence I am closeted with his unquestionable

I must please him to the utmost
with my food, chores and body;
My meals must sate his insatiable appetite
with the very best cuisines of his choice.
My house chores must be flawless in dexterity
for his perfectionist requests to please.
At bed time my **** and body curves
must gratify and gratify his ****** proclivities,
even at my own very expense.
A married Nigerian lady's poetic narrative about domestic violence
Little Bear Apr 2023
Once upon a time there was a girl
and the girl was ...
the girl was...
okay so,
she just was okay..
she just was
(i am not sure)

and she met a ... man?

he was a man but not an ordinary man.
he was ...
he was.....
loud and dangerous and kind
(only sometimes)
and he broke things.
(hearts,flowers,wooden doors,promises,
the virginity of girls)

But she didn't know that because, he was ... deceiving
(and just out of prison)
and utterly charming and 10 years older...
(but he wasn't like this every day, just most of them)

she was a child (15)
but he did love her
and she did believe him.

But then...
she was also in love with him
because she was
(after many years, co-dependent)

And from day one,
he would twist her words and make her feel
like she was going crazy

(she knew this because, this is what he told her she was)

And he would get angry and use his fists
and his voice to control her.

Also i forgot to tell you.
Her older brother used to look
in the crack of her bedroom door and watch her.
One day he asked her if he could touch her.
She was was 10
but she said no a lot of times before he believed her.

When her mum came up to say goodnight,
she was crying
(the girl)
and she told her Mum what had happened
The mum made the brother come in
and say sorry
and give the girl a hug
and to say sorry...

other things happened over the years that were creepy
(as ****)
including a handsy uncle
and a inappropriate series of
touching and kissing
from an older male house guest
who stayed until he got his own place.

The brother continued to 'watch'

So anyway,
the girl was under no illusion that
she was not to ask for things to be normal
and for things to not happen to her
that she didn't like
and to ask for her boundaries to be respected,
it was not something you just asked for
or expected...

so she stopped doing that and was silent instead
and stopped eating

and had anxiety and panic attacks
but she was told
she was not allowed to have them either,
so she turned inside herself
and stayed there

where in the corner of her mind,
in a very small room,
where only flowers grow
and the sun shines
and the sky was blue
she was safe.

So they got married.
Because that life was better than the brother/uncle/guest traumas
and she was girl who was scared
and co-dependent and wishing things
were going to be better one day.

And she was quite sure he
(her now husband)
would sleep
with other people
because some nights
he would not come home
and he would be angry
when she would ask why,
and he would say...
because she didn't give him
(as much ***)
as he deserved

so it would be her fault if he went elsewhere

(he said he had not but, if he had, it would have been her fault)

so she didn't ask anymore
because he would throw things at her

he would throw things from around the house
(an iron, a handful of coins, pliers, a hammer, his fists, lies, spiteful and cruel words)

All of them she remembered forever

So he closed her eyes and instead
she could only see through his eyes
just how stupid she was.

And how wrong and broken and twisted
she was.

And because she was wrong and broken and twisted,
she had no right
to ask for kindness.

or to ask for help.

Or to ask that
he touch softly
instead of like a creature
who did not care

for 18 years.

and then perchance

she watched a program on the telly

how people were in prison
for doing the things he had done
but they were normal
these things were normal for her

She was lucky he didn't hit harder
do all the things he did... More

and on the telly, they said that,
she was one of the people
who were...
Lucky to be alive

And she cried

and she was happy that she had found out
that she was lucky to be alive.

(not the end)
little lion Feb 2023
your shoes next to mine on the rack,
our toothbrushes in the same cup,
the way I know your coffee order
without even having to ask.

the good things never last.
Carlo C Gomez Mar 2023
step right in
where commodity and fiction
are deliberately blurred,

electrostatic dust collector,
after-shower body air-driers,
a spatially disconnected
from the world roll-on wife
complete with a dining table
that sinks into the floor;
don't tell her she's an android;
just don't.

she is captured
and ever ready,
she was a stenographer
but quite unsteady,
her mouth a spark of vowels
when her far off places
are aroused.

repeat this soothing motto — space, place, memory.

outside is scenographic sensation:
lightology. unbreathed air. porcelain skin.

she's the soft electric assurance
of a better life — the life which rests on device alone — a strong, sweet poison which infects the blood.

she is "the light of any home"...
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