Making Hate

Warning: abuse and some lines of rape. 

This is the part where I’m supposed to say some feminist thing related to my poem, which is about spousal abuse. Truth is, though, I’m not really sure what to say. This one was harder to write than the others, if only because it was too horrifying a scene to imagine, let alone write about. Maybe I’ll write a part two, where the woman plots her escape. I think she deserves that much, if not more than that. Anyways, I hope you like it. Don’t forget to leave a comment!

Sick woman
Waiting for him to return
Home after a long day of work
He’d be tired no doubt
Fake smiles that never were
Become scowls
When he bares his fangs
He becomes a beast
Whip in hand, of words or not
He cuts you
Bruises you
Throws you into bed and tears
Off your clothes, voracious, thrusts
Into you, despite wordless protests
(Rapes you, you know it
But you hate that word
And you know he does, too)
Until you wonder
Why they call it making love
When all he’s doing is
Making hate

You transformed
Sometimes tragedies can’t be avoided
No matter how hard you try
No matter how hard he tries

(…Not that he does)

His words resonate
Inside and out
Your screams are forever echoing
In this world where you’re silent
Aside from his lashes
And everything his hands leave behind
That’s stained with blood
(And not made with love)
He tells you you’re worth nothing
Stupid, stupid, stupid
Are you, or
Were you?


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