The Pain . . .
I can barely remember what I did wrong,
Not through the pain.
But you're just barely getting started.
All I can remember is not to fight back.
I grit my teeth.
I remember the promise and slam my eyes shut, trying not to let the tears flow.
I can hear my own heart beating, in sync with the rapid pulsing inside my chest.
I can't hear you yelling, but I can see your lips moving.
I don't realize how quickly I'm taking breaths until you pause, breathing hard. Almost as hard as I was.
You scowl and reach for me once again. I don't move.
You rip the shirt off my back and I instantly curl in on myself, feeling exposed.
My face buried in the thick blue carpet. I don't see you pick up the back-scratcher from the nightstand.
I want to scream.
To fight back.
But I don't.
I must remember my promise.
YOU ARE READING
Jasmin Lyle Smith
PoetryWhatever I feel and think. Mostly in the form of crappy poems. Experiences I've been through, recollections of encounters, and my deepest emotions.