Picture This.

beat-upSit for a few and let me outline a plan –
In a language that we can each understand;
Listen as I frankly describe –
What it’s like to be terrorized.
No matter a female, or a male –
The story’s the same and we all tell the tale;
A plan that belongs to an unnaturally cruel mind –
The gradual death grip that tightens with time.
Childhood fist fights lost, think back now –
That feeling of wanting a new identity, somehow;
The dip in the ego, embarrassment, shame –
Just shift this in its context to a given domestic domain.
The surprise and shock will absorb the first few hits –
The shame hides behind her down-turned, swollen lips;
Next to go: so quickly though, will be always, her pride –
Disbelief is that shimmering from either blackened eye.
The plan continues to play itself out –
The talk on the street everyone knows all about;
The terror becomes a part of her life –
Until she isn’t sure she sees anything right.
A tactical, practical fuck of the mind –
So perfectly tuned to the room in which she’s confined.
There’s nowhere to go, nowhere to hide –
It’s a matter of when the terrorist chooses to terrorize.
He’s so good at degrading the body and soul –
To cope, she must fly her mind out the window;
He’s so disturbingly satisfied with her misery –
That he makes certain it will remain HIS, exclusively.
The days begin to string together like beads –
Escape drifts further from a perceived reality.
The ache goes much deeper than wounds in the flesh –

he drops her and breaks her  – makes her beg him for death;
the cuts, scars, and impact marks, broken jaw and collar bones –
gradual desecration of the heart barking orders at the drones.
this plan was constructed by my husband: a psychopath –
a monster who hated me beneath a charming mask.
this very same plan is revived everyday –
set in motion to unfold in exactly such ways;
although the faces change on those in the show –
where the battered buck stops, we never do know.
those school-yard fights with bloody faces and egos –
break you so much harder when they happen in your home.

4 thoughts on “Picture This.

  1. Rita says:

    No words, only memories!