As the rain patters on the window and the cookies burn, I turn to you as your face turns to stone. The scalding smell filled the room, matching the fury in your eyes. Where did the glimmer in your eye go? Or the hint of love in your voice? You called me the apple of your eye. But now your eye has rotted and taken me down with its decay, leaving me trapped in the ruins of your betrayal. I had done all that I could. I wore the stone you bestowed me with on one knee, the stone heavy with the lies you wove around me.
The same hand that once caressed me now inflicts me with the deepest wounds. "Who will pay the bills?" they ask. "Don't be foolish," they say. "You are nothing without your husband, woman."
A woman, a mother, and a victim.
Care to guess which role they've confined me to?
YOU ARE READING
Thoughts for the Eye
PoetryThoughts I wrote down, maybe they'll give you some comfort? "But I feel something deeper. Beneath the fear, there is a fire inside of me, one I cannot extinguish. It burns with the pain and the rage of all the women who came before me. " PS. If...
