Hearing his voice, seeing his face, it makes me so afraid.
It brings back all the memories of how I was betrayed.
Admitting that I’m scared, I feel so vulnerable and weak.
It’s such an awful, painful, hurtful thing just to hear him speak.
My feelings of weakness fuel his strength, while robbing me of control.
The pain, the hurt, the mental abuse all have taken such a dreadful toll.
I feel afraid, I’m overwhelmed, and defenseless against his attack.
I have no strength to stand, fearful of an afflictive smack.
My soul now weakened by blows too many, my tears they turn to sand.
For I have cried tears of terror brought on by an abusive hand.
To look at me on the outside, one would never tell,
For my pain cannot describe to you the trauma delivered from hell.
But if you look closely at my mind, my heart, and examine my soul,
You would discover the scars are deep from wounds untold.
The fear remains because this I know, his persistence will not rest.
The rage will strike again, it is only paused at best.
I want no part of this man’s life, of his attention I have no desire.
He questions me only to twist my words and proclaim me a liar.
Somehow I thought I’d left this life oh so far behind,
But because of the children, our lives are forever intertwined.
So in fear, day by day, looking over my shoulder, I am condemned to live.
Controlled, cornered, and trapped, I have nothing more to give.
I feel the weight of this monstrous burden - of all hope I am bereft.
Like a wagon load of logs dragging behind me, reaching in for what is left. |
