© 2013 - Chloe Grant (All Rights Reserved)
I stared into the mirror,
Adjusted my hair once more.
Dusted down my dress again,
And picked my shoes up off the floor.
I needed to look impressive,
I needed to look worthy to have him.
I needed to look 'presentable',
So I wasn't a shameful sin.
I breathed a deep breath in tiredness,
I started to walk to the door.
On the other side he would be waiting,
Waiting to give me the score.
To tell me if I looked good enough,
If I looked suitable tonight.
I'd picked this outfit out especially,
I hoped I'd chosen right.
Opening the door I nervously clutched my bag,
He looked my up and down.
Butterflies stirred in my stomach,
And his face began to frown.
"What do you think you're doing!?"
I blushed deeply and turned away.
He placed a hand out, blocking my path,
I was scared of what he had to say.
"You're not going dressed like THAT!"
He picked at the hem of my dress.
"You look like a cheap tramp",
I wasn't dressed to impress.
His face contorted with anger,
His eyes filled with rage.
He was the director,
My petty life the stage.
I turned back towards the bedroom,
"Go and change. Now." he said.
I instantly obeyed his command,
Throwing my shoes towards the bed.
I got change into something he picked,
And went out to one of his parties.
He had me watched all night long,
He was surrounded my women dressed tarty.
When we got home he said to me,
"Try better next time."
His words slurred were slurred by drink,
But they still had that angry chime.
I nodded meekly and turned away,
I'm the one who always loses.
Living each day is a nightmare,
Because abuse isn't always bruises.
