Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sara Barrett Feb 2
When the marriage ends,  
and the child is still too small to understand  
what's been torn,  
why is it that the man tells his friends—  
"She was crazy."  
"She never got off her ***."  
"She was too emotional."  
"She never took care of the kids."  

And no one asks him,  
"Why did you stay?"  
Why did you have children with her?  
Why did you marry her in the first place?  
Why does she have full custody now?"  

No one dares to ask,  
because they already know.  

Men stay—  
for the comfort of control,  
for the invisible chains that bind women  
with babies,  
with promises that were never kept.  

They know,  
the way a child knows their mother’s touch  
but never her heart.  

The man knows his power in her silence,  
in her labor,  
in her sacrifices—  
the ones no one sees but her.  

And yet, when she walks away, they ask her,  
"Why did you stay so long?"  

Because they know the cost of leaving  
was more than she could afford.  

But still she walked.  

Still she left.  

Why did she stay?  

For the love she thought might change him.  
For the chance that maybe—just maybe—  
he’d become the man she believed in.  
For the hope that her children would have a father who cared.  

But he didn’t.  

He stayed because he knew—  
the house wouldn’t run without her.  
The kids wouldn’t be fed,  
the bills wouldn’t be paid,  
and the image of a family was more important than the truth.  

Men stay because it’s easier to claim a woman  
than to be the man they promised to be.  

And when she leaves, they don’t ask themselves,  
"Why couldn’t I be better?"  

They just ask,  
"Why did she stay so long?"
"The Unasked Questions" is a powerful exploration of the silent struggles women endure in challenging relationships, revealing the complex emotional landscape of marriage, separation, and societal judgment. Through raw, unflinching language, the poem exposes the systemic dynamics that trap women in cycles of sacrifice and silence, where men's narratives often overshadow women's lived experiences. Released during **National Teen Dating Violence Awareness and Prevention Month (TDVAM)** in February, it resonates with the theme of breaking free from control and reclaiming one's voice. The poem challenges reflexive blame placed on women by turning the lens on unasked questions—Why did he stay? Why did he have children? It dismantles convenient narratives while honoring the resilience of those who walk away despite overwhelming costs.
Sara Barrett Jan 29
They tell her, it’s not their place.  
Say, he’s always been good to me.  
Say, she should have left sooner.

They say a lot of things,  
but never the ones that matter.  

Her black eye is a private matter.  
Her broken ribs, just a lover’s spat.  
Her ******? A tragedy—  
but never a crime until her name  
is trending in the headlines.  

When she packed her bags,  
they called her selfish for breaking the family.  
When she stayed,  
they called her weak for not leaving.  

But where was she supposed to go?  
Shelters with no room?  
A courtroom where his lies outweigh her bruises?  
A graveyard where they’d whisper,  
She should have known better?  

They say, not all men.  
Say, he was under stress.  
Say, he’s a good dad,
as if a man who leaves his children hungry,  
their mother in pieces,  
is anything but a walking threat.  

And you—  
the man who doesn’t hit,  
but laughs at the ones who do.  
The one who turns away when your friend grabs her wrist too hard.  
The one who stays silent when your coworker brags,  
"I keep my woman in line."  

You are part of this.  

You are why she doesn’t call for help.  
Why she learns to stitch her own wounds in silence.  
Why she dies and they ask what she did to deserve it.  

The system says, report him.  
Then calls her bitter.  
Then hands him weekends with the children—  
the same children he left cowering behind locked doors.  

And when she’s gone, they’ll ask:  
Why didn’t she say something?

But all she ever did was scream  
into a void of indifferent men,  
silent women,  
and a world that let her be hunted.  

So hear this now:  

If you know, speak.  
If you see, stop him.  
If you call yourself an ally, act.  

Because the only men who fear consequences  
are the ones who know they deserve them.
"Bruised by Silence, Built on Indifference" is a poignant and unflinching exploration of domestic violence and societal complicity. Through powerful imagery and stark language, the poem confronts the indifference that often surrounds victims of abuse, highlighting the painful realities they face when seeking help or escaping their situations.
The poem critiques the harmful narratives that blame victims for their circumstances while calling out those who remain silent or dismissive in the face of violence. It challenges readers to recognize their roles—whether as bystanders or enablers and urges them to take action against abuse rather than perpetuating a culture of silence.
With its raw emotional depth and compelling call to allyship, this piece serves as both a reflection on systemic failures and a rallying cry for change. It speaks directly to the heart of the struggle many women endure, making their pain visible and demanding that we all become part of the solution.
Laurel Selby Dec 2024
I've cried all my tears the well is dry
Let's not make this hard we can't deny
It's time to move on
No more years we should waste
Good times are remembered
though bitter-sweet we both taste
I must let you go for insanity rears
I have finally put to rest all of my fears
I am stronger in heart mind body and soul
Without you I must find my own self control
The path I have chosen, my decision to make
You lost that right long ago with the road you did take.
Goodbye to you, I wish you nothing but well,  Finally I am free from my own private hell.

14/2/2012
I wrote (just realised the date!!) this after leaving a domestic violence relationship of 12 years, it took another 8years to stop being scared.
Odd Odyssey Poet Sep 2024
Teardrop echoes; the tone of your skin drains away,
painting another picture of the night. Whistle-blowers of the night-
torchbearers of the day; kids fighting each other for tree turfs;
skipping stones at early morning ducks. But their mother
inside doesn’t have much time to duck his punch

Well domesticated dogs, too afraid to bark at the night’s
domestic violence. Dominated skin under the dominator’s tight
hands; the love of a shape-shifter— changing its skin to appear
loving for ten pairs of eyes; striking down with a false picture
of love- to the sight of six eyes. Like claws that sink into your
skin; he’s drunk again!

A day away from shelter; for a heaven that does exist from
one’s bruised knees. For all the hurt draped over troubled
shoulders, unfurled eyes crying silent tears bouncing off
the walls

                     A child in the next room hears the teardrop echoes
Started with gold-plated meals and religious heels
Felt like heaven was real
Then why I am in the mirror using conceal

Maldives By day
Belize when you say
In Madison Square
where you keep me boxed if I stray  
For freedom, I have to start with “May,”

Mother stretched her hand to not get met
Countless reports stopped
after the first check
Your life can’t be in danger if you commute on private jets
Burberry shades when he’s most scary
So my trauma doesn’t connect

As soon as I finally collect from my war wounds, it’s turned into show tunes
Like, “ Where are all these hiding bathrooms, when you are out taking pics in Cancun?”
No matter how viral, there will be an audience that says,” I never a ran mile until my lifestyle went down the Nile.”
Lexie Apr 2022
I asked you
If you thought
You were capable of hurting me
You said you weighed 115lb
But a sliver of glass
Cannot weigh more than a few grams
Look what that can do
You are a shattered pane
That is all I feel
Your little slivers under my skin
You are not my mother
But I hear her in your voice
You have a mother's touch
It stings all to familiar
You broke the skin on my face
Open like a ripe peach
I suppose we are all capable of terrible things
But you burdened yours as love
Pressed it into my skin
And let me rot in silence
I found myself fracturing beneath his fists,
Beauty beaten in hues of blue, purple and black,
Like clouded midnight skies, full of rain.
My eyes becoming pools of stars,
Glistening with secrets of pain,
Shining dully into the darkness of our nights.
Saturated with his snide, stingy, cruel colors,
I soaked in his venom,
Becoming canvas for the art of abuse.
And wasn't it beautiful?

These tears in skin hindered no smile,
Bruises like paint, enhancing face,
Pupils shining like diamonds,
Rough and worn, but precious.
Aching bones breaking to rebuild themselves,
Tongue red with biting back curses,
Rosy lips curved and sealed against apologies,
Flesh as hard and gray as stone,
Sharpened against wicked whims and foul words,
Aren't I beautiful -

In all my rainbow tones?
Next page