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The Cycle

a poem about abuse

By yanina maysonetPublished 2 years ago 1 min read
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You raise your hand to me,

I flinch at the sight,

You say you would never go through with it.

It is the threat of the crime that leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

The feeling is heavy,

It drags at my bones,

Your voice colors sincere apology.

He too knew how to twist truth till instigator became victim.

Easy to take offence,

When integrity,

Is questioned. You are a martyr aflame.

It is only a change in your tone upon which I will fixate.

The sharp incredulous,

Way you dismiss me,

Leaves dark bruises where kisses should have been.

It reminds me that is how the fault carries without your control.

When I live in the fear,

The end is unclear,

I pray to the hands of the kitchen clock.

My life is not my own when suspicion is near hope disappears.

I am left so alone,

Isolated tears,

There are no allies in muddy trenches.

Rendered lost, rendered weak, society adds to the loss of heart.

Every time that I raise,

The strength to stand here,

On my own when the rug keeps getting pulled.

I end up on the floor robbed of dignity and of a frail faith.

So what do I do then?

When faced with this you,

When everyone is screaming for more blood?

I do the only thing I can to get up once more on my feet.

I find the rhythm here,

I write out the words,

A desperate plea whispered out to the dark.

Perhaps in this language you can begin to see what I have seen.

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About the Creator

yanina maysonet

I love to write fiction stories of the supernatural, romance, high fantasy, or science fiction variety. A bit of a baby, a bit of a rolling stone, just doing my best to avoid getting arrested. @ziggyer5 on the instagram.

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