She had reasons to leave
but never did
Her love was stronger, so she held on longer
He signed her death warrant with every punch to her face and ribs
Breaking her bones,
while building her wall of insecurity
Emotionally and physically abusing her daily
She couldn’t leave as he held her heart hostage
Loving her with rage
Stuck between pleasure and pain
Broken deeply to a point where it all felt the same

How can we breathe
in a society that
is constantly squeezing
our throats?

How can we walk
in a world that
is constantly chaining
our legs?

How can we be
in a place that
is constantly telling
us no?

"No," it says,
"That job isn't
enough for you to
survive."

"No," it says,
"Those clothes aren't
enough for you to
win him."

"No," it says,
"That thing isn't
enough for you to
impress."

"No," it says,
"You are not ever
enough to amount to
anything."

Well, I think it's time
we say "No" back.

I beg to bare that feeling
of knowing how
it feels to belong,
the feeling it is
where what I do
is little considered wrong,
and the feeling of
being able to
reciprocate their muse
indefinitely.

Nonetheless, I have found
within myself a strong bond
free from those who
claim I am wronged
excelling profoundly
in the craft I have
mastered and perfected
devoid of the ridicule
of those whom have wanted

Step up to the mic and strike first with a smile of one liners, with observations or tales that beguile them.
For a smile will disable them while your lines slide in behind them, almost whispering, selecting the sharp-soft phrases that will best penetrate those guarded places. Looking with innocence into their faces, turning minds stage by stages, persuading with insights, with stories of real life, with familiar tales of familiar strife. Then when you follow through and strike with the punch line they have no defence and have no time to decline the good sense found in this food for thought, laughing to a sudden realised stop, looking again at their lives, with a furtive smile of dawning delight at the shed light on shared lives found in your soft amplified lines.
- Do it right when you step up to the mic and you just might change lives.

At first his hand prints were soft
Touching me gently, slowly and softly
Then his ego got fed
They became hard
Found strength to swing

My face the target
Swinging and swinging
He hit with a passion

I was his lover and his target
I forgave and he reloaded
Bullets in hands
Shot and my heart he destroyed

My inside pain became seen by many
Bruises and bumps, cut lips and black eyes
They asked why I never left
I told them he took something from me
He took my heart and left me feeling empty
To fill that void I replaced his love with my pain
Some called him an abuser
I called him my lover

To me it was all the same

She let him put his hands on her
She let him control her
She let him abuse her,
She let him misuse her, and mistreat her
She was too weak to say no to love  

So she took in all the pain while she died from within