if ever a beaten housewife deserved it…
There were so many things said
that could not be processed.
Not by my mind
nor any other.
The extent of the relationship
between the words
and their actual meaning
was negligible
compared to the relationship
between his hand
and my face.
I couldnt understand
how such an irrational
emotion could be reached.
The anger was unbearble
to the point where
i was not quite sure
if it really was anger,
maybe devastation.
Maybe it was
a call for apathy.
The pain delayed itself
as it usually does
and i was left
with nothing more than
a broken heart.
A broken life.
If only i could turn
that strike to a stroke,
i might have had the power
to subdue the peril
and changed his mind.
I blame myself
for not being more availible
for silently tormenting him
for everything id done
to deserve this.
I fell to the ground
and kissed his feet,
worshipping the very ground
he stood upon,
wishing that i was worthy
of his relentless kindness.
He was malicious
and i brought it upon myself.
To strike once more
wouldn’t be punishment enough.
Tears never came
my soul seeped
through its encasement
and i watched as an outsider
of my own life.
I watched as my body collapsed,
i watched my ribs cave in on themselves
but mostly i watched his face,
and whatever pain i could not feel
i watched him take it on.
The hurt on his face
was enough to smash
whatever pieces were left
of my heart.
So this is hell
i thought,
dying with the image
of the one i love most
in such agony,
not being able to reach out
and hold him
and apologize for
how i wronged him.
Suddenly, I imagined how He used
to make love to me
so tender
so sweet
and i thought about
how id never be able
to make love to Him again.
He would never be able
to make love to me again
and even worst of all
he was another man.
rate this poem: 
No Comments
Be the first to comment!