The Abuser Poem by Elizabeth Ann JohnsonMurphree

The Abuser

Rating: 5.0


The smell of your breath
makes me think of decay.
I felt pain on my beat-up
body and the crack of your
belt buckle on my back.

Your fists on my head felt
as if my skull was going to
break open; you push my face
into the southern red soil
that mirrored the bloodstains
on your shirt as I lay beside
the dirt road.

I clasp my battered body and
prayed, fear rose in my closing
throat; I slept and woke as
time stood still. You leaned
against the car smoking; you
ask had I learned my lesson.

I asked myself is this was
God's plan for me, I am
trapped and I am lost to the
world of abuse; my soul has
built a wall around itself
ready to die. If I could
return to freedom I would,
I have no rights; I live for
death.

You will soon say that you
are sorry, while you continue
to imprison me. I know only
madness and despair; I will
welcome death on this
tearless night from you my
abuser.

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