|
 Menu
|
|
|
|
|
Social
|
|
|
|
|
the cycle lives on
Contributed by
bluebird
on
Tuesday, 18th January 2005 @ 08:47:41 AM in AEST
Topic:
drugabuse
|
Broken bones and faling tears. I scream for help but nobody hears. Or maybe they just dont want to hear it; maybe theyre like me and think that if they ignore it long enough itll just go away. I did it again I managed to make you mad, I run from the kitchen praying you wont 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 wont 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. Its 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 cant 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. Im 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...youre upset. I did it again; dinner wasnt ready and you cant find the remote control. I scream Im sorry-you barly hear me, youre 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 youve been with for so long. Itll be four years in one month and 14 days, Valentines 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, youre 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 its 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 youre 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 Ill 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, Im 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 Im 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 wont let you know youve 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 cant respond. I dont 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.
Thats what I thought, you ******* *****. You worthless piece of ****. Dont 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. Thats what I ******* thought. Now, ******* clean this shot hole up. As if acting on its 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. Youre still in the doorway; I dont 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, its 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 arent from me being clumsy, like I try to say. Tell her that she is right theyre from his violent mood swings. Tell her that these last four years have been hell; and that I dont 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 daddys 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...
Copyright ©
bluebird
... [
2005-01-18 08:47:41]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
Advertisments:
|
|
|
|
|
|
Sorry, comments are no longer allowed for anonymous, please register for a free membership to access this feature and more
|
|
All comments are owned by the poster. Your Poetry
Dot Com is not responsible for the content of any
comment.
That said, if you find an offensive comment, please
contact via the FeedBack Form with details, including poem title
etc.
|
|
|
Re: the cycle lives on
(User Rating: 1 )
by emystar on
Tuesday, 18th January 2005 @ 09:13:27 AM AEST
(User
Info | Send
a Message)
|
his is so sad.
If this is a true story get the hell out of there as soon as u can. Call the police! there are laws against domestic abuse.
I will put u in my prayers.
luv, huggs, faith, hope, strength, joy, peace,
emy |
|
|
Re: the cycle lives on
(User Rating: 1 )
by darkestpetal on
Tuesday, 18th January 2005 @ 04:24:25 PM AEST
(User
Info | Send
a Message)
|
| ahhhhhh so painful in all aspects .Im with Emmy if this is really happening to you you really need to get out of there by any means possible ,dont put yourself in anymore harm by staying in this situation this is sad my heart cries for you |
|
|
|
· 
Poetry
Site Help
Members
Areas
Reference
Search
Top
Others
