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Literature Text
His hand flashes,
flicking into my aura
and beyond;
"shut it, bitch,
or there's another
where that came from".
Two years of trial
& still, the glances
slip by us;
one day we'll reward
the first one
who stands up:
"your hands don't belong
on her. real men love
leaving no bruises."
flicking into my aura
and beyond;
"shut it, bitch,
or there's another
where that came from".
Two years of trial
& still, the glances
slip by us;
one day we'll reward
the first one
who stands up:
"your hands don't belong
on her. real men love
leaving no bruises."
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Say no to domestic violence.
(This is not a way of saying my boyfriend abuses me; we're doing something of a social experiment and for the last two years, while out in public, he'll often imitate a domestic violence situation to see what people do. We have yet to find someone who stands up for me and says "that's not okay", but the day we do, we plan to publically thank the guy [or woman!] and give a small monetary reward dependant on our funds at the time.)
If you liked this, try these:
(This is not a way of saying my boyfriend abuses me; we're doing something of a social experiment and for the last two years, while out in public, he'll often imitate a domestic violence situation to see what people do. We have yet to find someone who stands up for me and says "that's not okay", but the day we do, we plan to publically thank the guy [or woman!] and give a small monetary reward dependant on our funds at the time.)
If you liked this, try these:
Silent WitnessI pressed and pushed
until your fragile ribs
began popping
like bubble wrap wrung
and twisted in my hands.
I could feel the bones
all jagged and fractured,
poking out sharp
against my palms
through the rubbery layer
of your bruised flesh.
Your screams were lost
somewhere between
the red rim of your mouth
and my ears, buried
beneath the crackling crunch
reverberating in the air.
My iron fist
framed those lovely eyes
in soft blacks and blues
so perfectly complimenting
the massive hematoma
I've painted on your chest.
I didn't want to harm you,
this time nor the last.
You just never know
when to stop pushing me,
you never learn and you
make me do this
but I really do love you
and I'll never do this again.
You believe me, right?
Emma's Gardenyour hands are rosebuds
opening along my skin
and blooming
over bruises grown in imperfections;
[I'm so sorry, darling]
your apologies
stretch, thin-limbed,
and tangle--
vines unpruned
[I love you too much
to hurt you again]
and your whispers plant
promises into the curve
of my heart;
[without me, you
would slip and fall]
even stringless,
my roots are tied here:
[you belong here]
one day i will wither
into dust
[with me]
The Violence of NatureHe is made of birch branches,
with a mouth fully of holly;
prickly words and sharp points.
He has flowers stapled to his skin,
but he doesn't particularly like
the romanticisation of violence:
the hydrangea-
and lupus-bruises are only there
because he's dirt.
Comments13
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I actually said something once in a situation like this. There was a couple who was checking out (I was working as a cashier) and saying threatening things to his wife, who would give him a terrified glance before turning and awkwardly smiling at me because...I guess she didn't know what to do. I watched this for about a minute and then just had to say something. He looked so surprised. And I hope that it didn't cause her more harm than good in the end, but I like to think it didn't.