A pattern

Why is it
that you can come home
from an all night drinking binge
laughing and staggering
up our staircase
into your bedroom.

You pause
when notice me
and frown.

Something I say
do
or think
hits you the wrong way
and off into a rampage you go.

First it's the name calling.
You think that if you call me names
somehow this makes me less of a person.

Then when you tire of this sport
you go to telling me that I am
a poor daughter
that I can't cook to suit
a begger on the street
let alone a important person
like you.

Then you go onto
tell me that I am a poor student
and a lousy house cleaner.

That you are tired of living
in this hell hole.

Then when I don't move fast enough
the slapping starts.

First they aren't too bad
but soon
I am lying on the floor
bruised and bleeding
trying to curl up into a ball
to protect my face...

Then you start kicking me.

You continue this til
exhaustion
forces you to stop.

Then you stagger up those same stairs
to fall into your bed
leaving me
finally
bleeding
lying helplessly
in pain
on the floor
weeping silently
praying
for God to take me to a better place.

screaming inside
as only
a victim can.

Slowly I get up
clean myself
and wait
for it to start all over again.