do you remember
the first time you yelled at me?
when you blamed me for something i didn't do.
it felt like every sentence was wrapping itself around my throat.
like each word was a fist slamming into my jaw.
your apology the next day was an ice pack.
your lips were stitches on an open wound.
but each time the letters sunk in a little deeper.
the phantom blood dripped from the gashes a little longer.
sometimes, i wished
you would have just struck me.
at least then,
the bruises would have
shown.
at least then,
somebody might have
noticed.
YOU ARE READING
how the words come
Poetry"this is the poetry that has come from finally realizing it is okay to be okay but also not okay at the same time." ~ 'how the words come' tells the story of overcoming the aftermath of an emotionally abusive relationship. the book is separated into...
