(Sort of like Slam poetry thing)
I met this boy at the young age of 15,
He was mine for two years.
He had baby blue eyes and radiated innocence.
I was enthralled immediately.
So when he asked me out a few weeks later, of course I said yes.
In retrospection,
I shouldn’t have leapt so fast at the offer and I fell down a dark, deep rabbit hole of pain and regret.
At that moment, sitting in the restaurant with him, eating chicken Alfredo pasta and bread sticks,
Everything was perfect.
It never would have passed my mind that months later those dotting eyes would look at me in hatred
Or that his smiling mouth would spit out such vicious words that would tear me down and leave me broken and abandoned on the floor.
I never would have thought that those hands crafted by God would leave black and blue bruises on my skin.
The first time he ever hit me was when I told him I didn’t want to have sex.
He said that he was the man and that my body belonged to him now, said that he would beat me until I had learned my lesson never to disobey him.
Never look him in the eyes, talk to no man, what happens with him stays with him, and never under any circumstances say no.
In the beginning I thought that he just had a few problems, that I could fix him.
What an air-headed, foolish young girl I was.
He was just a fixer-upper, I could have him better in no time.
I was lying to myself, for every time He laid his hands on me could not be forgiven. There was no excuse that would justify him and what he did.
He punched me until I was bloodied and bruised, until my heart lay on the floor in shattered pieces, never to be put together again.
The words that he said still ring in my head,
Worthless, nobody will ever love you, look at the ground, obey me.
I followed him around like a lost puppy because I had no one else,
I believed every word out of his lying and deceitful mouth.
I truly thought that nobody would ever want me, so I stayed by his side.
At that time, I was young enough that I didn’t know what true love looked like,
I thought it was normal for somebody to hit their wives or girlfriends, or boyfriends, or partners because it was all I had ever known.
I didn’t grow up with a romantic example in my life, my dad committed suicide and my mom married a man who didn’t believe in romance.
I had no one to tell me what he was doing wasn’t right.
I thought I deserved every harsh word that left his lips, that I deserved ever hit thrown at my face.
He stole my pride, my dignity, left his handprints smeared over my skin in a permanent ink, never to be washed off.
He made me afraid and always cautious around men. I could never let my guard down.
He stole my first kiss, took it right from my lips without a second of hesitation.
He took more than my kiss, he made me feel like anyone could walk all over me and I would have to say sorry. That if someone stabbed me in the back, I would say sorry for getting blood on their shoes.
But if I could go back to the beginning, and do it all over again before I ever saw the beautiful curl of his smile,
I would.
I would not put myself through all of this pain all over again just to come out with thicker skin and PTSD. I was too young to go through that, too innocent, too gentle and naive.
I didn’t deserve it.
Now, as I pick the broken shards of my heart up off the ground and try to tape them back together,
I know that nothing I ever do will get rid of the feeling of his hands on me or the disgust I see when I look at the scars on my skin carved from his hands.
He broke me in every way possible, and now I have to spend the rest of my life just trying to be ok again.
265Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9EhYhgPVkO
