What it's like to be a battered woman for those of you who never will be


United States
42° 21' 40.68" N, 88° 5' 23.748" W

(poems go here)
I wonder If I was ever lead to you if pathways would hold us hostage when we threw the towel in empty laundry bins let them soak between our desperate hearts I wonder if mistakes like these should be forgiven
If I should tell the bruises on my neck they deserved there place that you were just lonely. And I left you to turn inside your covers. Promised myself that I would never lift a finger to dial your number, this summer had to be my hardest you lipped your hatred between your kisses let my begging drive you. 3 years ago I let you listen to my nos till they meant yes fell distinctly to your force I never thought you were wrong till this summer when u wrapped your palm against my neck and let your fist ride me through the pain i disappeared for awhile, too afraid to tell my boyfriend you were back in the picture. I haven't heard from you since the last text message "and this is the type of stuff that made me beat you"
I guess it only hurt cause I never stopped fighting back until now, until my nails are infected with your skin and your scared from me trying to free myself, from the agony of your physical definition of love ...I hope one day hell tosses you a rope and drags you to it's main furnace so you can burn in your own sins , so you can plead to be healed like I was under you, like I pleaded when you dismantled the only part of me I called pretty , I hope you feel like I felt ...but for you to never heal like I've healed ...
So you cant batter another woman ... Like you've battered me ...
I wonder if you even remember the death of your daughter .

I heard she was 12
weeks un-born when she died.
Stuck between the filter of her mother's womb.
She danced into death
before life could give her stepping lessons.

You celebrated when you found out she was dead
just had your 18th birthday,
and you werent ready to be a father.
Her mother was a 14 year old virgin when you met her,

And finally she left you, hands held open
Sprawled across your matress, you wished
Your baby had a heartbeat,
So her mother’s would continue to dance for you.

You turned into a man crying to the beat, of your first child,
laying un-whole in the pit of somewhere un-known.
You went to church, that weekend
Sank between arguments you and your ex- baby mother
continued to have

I'm guessing your daughter would have been 2 years old now.
Your seed would have bloomed,
High above 8 seasons,

But I guess, I shouldnt feel sorry for you,
You pleaded to abort her,
and Then, begged for her to be revived
WHen she was miscarried

Although, you and her mother don't talk,
and your daughter isn't alive
You still have to live with their names on your chest.
Go to sleep, to remember what can't be loved.

I wonder if you even remember the death of your daughter.
Or am I the only one that re-calls holding your tears that night?
Hearing you blame it on her mother,
Calling her a whore, for letting your daughter soak until she's empty.
Hating her for accidentaly giving you what you wanted

I listened to you that night talk about her as if you never knew her.
I listened to you that night talk about ME as if you never knew ME.

I guess what i'm saying is,
I'm sorry I couldnt save her.
This is the first time i've cried
since she's died,
Because I should never have had to admit
That I am 16 and I used to be pregnant. By the man who abused me


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