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Array
(
[sid] => 80394
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => the cycle lives on
[time] => 2005-01-18 08:47:41
[hometext] => My struggle was never just a strugle on the streets its tryin to stay alive at home..hate it wen you start talkin bout the past wen u tipsy...turned more of a story then a poem sry.just needed to vent i guess,its long but plz read.
[bodytext] => Broken bones and faling tears. I scream for help but nobody hears. Or maybe they just don’t want to hear it; maybe they’re like me and think that if they ignore it long enough it’ll just go away. I did it again I managed to make you mad, I run from the kitchen praying you won’t find me. “Where are you, you little *****?” I hear the words as you near the bedroom. I hide in my closet, behind my turn-about dress from freshman year, hoping and praying to God that you won’t open this door. The door and this pink dress are the only things protecting me from more scars and blood. “Please God,” I pray “If you love me as your child you will not allow him to harm me. I beg you as one of your own children. Help me, Father.” It’s too late; you walk in and head straigt to me. I hear your breathing, on the other side of this 1 inch think barrier I can’t take it. My heart begins to pound as the tears begin to roll down my cheeks. “I begg you Father,” I say as you pull me out by my hair, without warning the first quick blow to my face; blood gushes out from the gash on my cheek, onto my once white tee-shirt. I’m thrown to the floor. Crack the sound of my face hitting the corner of the bed. A violent kik to my stomak, my face pulls into itself as if I had bit into a lemon; a single low key cry escapes my lips. I beg for you to stop but you wont; I know it...you’re upset. I did it again; dinner wasn’t ready and you can’t find the remote control. I scream I’m sorry-you barly hear me, you’re off in your own world-intent to injure. Harm me because again I am bad. Hurt me the one you swear you love, the one you’ve been with for so long. It’ll be four years in one month and 14 days, Valentine’s Day; the day of love and painful memories. I hear the downstairs neighbor turn up the TV ignoring my desperate pleas for help-for somone to save me from this Hell. Finally it stops and you look down at me, you’re eyes are still glazed over. “Clean this up, *****” and you leave the room I look at the once white carpet and see the stains. Stains of other incidents-other outbursts of anger, other moments of unnecessary pain. I look at the desk and see where it’s cracked- from when you smashed my face against it and broke my nose. I believe that was just 3 or 4 months ago; God the days seem to run together, one attack after another. Time stands still. I see the splatters on the wall from a few months ago- as a reminder to never do dishes when you’re in the shower. I look at the floor and take the carpet cleaner from under the bed; in its usual spot, just within arms reach. I start to scrub the carpet praying to get the blood out, hopefully I’ll get these out before they set-otherwise I know there will be hell to pay. You walk in again happy as can be- as if the last 10 minutes never happened. “Hey Hun, I’m going to go run to the store. Want anything?” I look up at you-my cheeks finally stopped bleeding. I want to ignore you, I want you to know I’m hurting, but I know what will happen. I swallow my pride, as I have done so many times before. “No, babe...” I reply as tears well up in my eyes, I look away. I won’t let you know you’ve won! You leave the room; I listen for the front door to open and close. I scream as I hear the front door slams. “****** *****!” I scream as I finish my last syllable- the door suddenly opens. “What the **** did you say?” Panik takes over I shake from head to toe; I can’t respond. I don’t know what to say. Before I know it you're in the room, I have no time to react before your cold fist meets my cheek. “That’s what I thought, you ******* *****. You worthless piece of ****. Don’t you dare ever-**=***** talk down to me.” I curl into the fetal position and block my already swollen face. You kick me in the back I wince from the blow. “Do you understand, ****...huh, do you?” I whisper, “Yes.” “That’s what I ******* thought. Now, ******* clean this shot hole up.” As if acting on it’s own; my body instinctively uncurls and I grab the spray. I spray the new blood dripping from my nose as it hits the carpet; adding to the already spreading pool of blood. You’re still in the doorway; I don’t dare look-up. “Good for nothing *****.” you say as you leave the room. The TV goes on and you turn on Monday night football. A sigh of relief leaves my body, that should give me an hour or so of freedom I finish cleaning the floor. I look in the mirror; dried caked-on blood covers my face from my latest attack. My lip is two-times it normal size and my eye is swelling shut. The phone rings I rush to pick it up, it’s my mommy. “Hello Sweetie, how are you?” she asks with an all too missed sincerity. I think, do I dare tell her that I was just beaten. I want to tell her it all, tell her that he is abusive. Tell her that the bruises aren’t from me being clumsy, like I try to say. Tell her that she is right they’re from his violent mood swings. Tell her that these last four years have been hell; and that I don’t think I can live like this for much longer. From morning ‘til night and in-between having to live in constant fear. I want to tell her to come pick me up and save me from all of this. I so badly wish for the courage to tell her I want to be mommy and daddy’s little girl. And like a twig snapping in a silent forest; a beer can opens in the living room. “Hey Mom, you know me. Better then ever.” And my cycle lives on... [comments] => 2 [counter] => 217 [topic] => 66 [informant] => bluebird [notes] => Moderator 9 Bleep words 1/18/05 Please bleep all the letters of the words that don't abide by rules. This will help the moderators. Thank you. [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 10 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => drugabuse )
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