October 8, 2009 |
| The wound |
I am an Abused woman
this is my title. I don't wear this title with pride nor am I proud to bear the name.
my life is an image of what I once dreamt of as a child. There is no picket fence dream; it was just an image. A fantasy running wild. no prince will sweep me off my feet. No chariot shall come to my door. there is no happily ever after. I am called a liar, a user and a dumb whore. Those are the nice names. Alcohol is the reason and the cure for the pain. I am clean, I cook, I make sure he is well taken care of but still I am not worthy of life. I gave my love to the wrong man.
It was a role someone had to play so why not me. I am educated, smart and motivated. I cry in the car and on my lunch hours. I am a great performer. you don't know me you don't know what your looking at. Yes I can be the president of a corporation maybe even one for abused woman.
I can only tell you about my bad days and fantasize about good ones. You see I'm still that little girl looking for the dream that is a fantasy. I am an Abused woman. But not anymore because I am not recognized. Life moves on people laugh and perform. Can any see that I am falling. Who can I tell? Who would listen? I am ashamed no not ashamed not at all. I no longer live in abuse I am free. to think. to feel and to survive. Do you believe me or not. How do you know because I say so,
Who do you believe the poem or the poet?
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