remember the first time your anger got the best of us?
the way I stayed still in the immediate aftermath-
looking away, even as the blood trickled down my freshly wounded lip;
the way I finally looked back at you, dry-eyed and unafraid
and said, “it’s okay, baby - I know you didn’t mean it.”
before you even acknowledged what you had done -
[what I let you get away with;]
we picked a hell of a night, though, didn’t we?
I listened to silver forks scraping against bleach-white teeth
and the squish of overpriced cow being masticated
all night long-- echoing in my skull, in perfect rhythm with the boom
of the voice that shook your house [our home] less than two hours before;
I was mortified, sitting between uncomfortable silences
and unspoken accusations as your parents
watched in disgust-- their sideways glances aimed
not at my swollen lip, blackened eye, or trembling wrists,
but at your ever-roaming eyes, your groping hands…
the way you just couldn’t stop touching me--
like you were afraid I’d slip between the love-seat and disappear without you
if your fingertips dared to part from my skin, even for a moment,
even to pass your mother the fucking gravy;
and then there was the drive home--
the frenzied craze to take me away and strip me down,
as if I hadn’t been standing naked in front of you
and your mother
and your sister
and your fucking father
through the entire miserable dinner party---
yeah baby, from the moment fist met face and I was introduced to
the taste of your shoe sole-- I was bare, open, exposed, revealed, and absolutely numb;
[but I remember] the passion after we arrived home-
the intensity in your eyes and the force from your lips, your hips, your hands
as you gripped me hard and slammed me against the wall,
pushing yourself into me… trying to steal back the piece of my soul
you forfeited in your rage; but with every thrust and grunt and moan
you only shoved it farther away from the light… and you knew it.
[but you just kept fucking.]
I knew you loved me when you grabbed my throat hours later--
your cock inside me again, my flesh now splattered with battle scars
too numerous to count-- and you screamed for the neighbors and god and
who ever else could care that you would never be a man like this
for any other woman, because I would always belong to you.
and then you wept… allowed the weight of your body to collapse on me,
tears streaming off your cheeks and onto my breasts,
salty and tingly as they sank into my open cuts.
those moments of decay are etched in my mind--
something to never be replicated or forgotten;
and after the sun rose and daylight revealed
what shattered lamps and tightly drawn curtains had hidden,
I lay on your chest, in awe of your masterful handiwork…
and I wore that necklace of your black and blue thumbprints
for weeks - skipping classes and appointments because I refused
to cover up the only beautiful thing you were ever able to give me…
an excuse for my pain.
Author notes
very rough around the edges. and in need of some editing. and long. yeah. loooong.
while i wrote it i couldn't decide if i wanted to make it a poem or a piece of prose. it clearly lends itself to prose, but i felt there was definitely story element to it too, as far as being chronological throughout the night and then having the 'weeks the followed' wrapping it up in the ending etc. idk. this was an old piece i always hated and wanted to redo. so i did. heh.
♥
Comments
1 - 7 of 7
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"[but I remember] the passion after we arrived home-
the intensity in your eyes and the force from your lips, your hips, your hands
as you gripped me hard and slammed me against the wall,
pushing yourself into me… trying to steal back the piece of my soul
you forfeited in your rage; but with every thrust and grunt and moan
you only shoved it farther away from the light… and you knew it.
[but you just kept fucking.]"
" I refused
to cover up the only beautiful thing you were ever able to give me…
an excuse for my pain.
"
I would never call this long, because it held my attention throughout.
very well-done.
you showed the side that nobody really talks about- the love involved. the desperation.
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oh, my God. This is fabulous writing! I've read and reread it three times. And you want me to enter your contest?? Girl, I can't write this good.
Love, Lane
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Definitely excellent poetic writing.
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"and I wore that necklace of your black and blue thumbprints/ for weeks..."
This is so sad, and yet so hauntingly beautiful and poignant in the way you tell it. I didn't even notice the length. Absolutely stunning -- but you never deliver anything less.
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oh my darling, this was so sad.
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This was extremely sad. I feel like, with everything I read by you, I gain back a thousand memories that I could never have dug out, both good and bad. You have an amazing talent of penning what most people could never even begin to say. Another great work of art by you. =]
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i love this I've been looking for a poem like this forever
great job
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