What Do You Do, When You’re Abused?
A/N: Hi there! The is a poem I wrote about domestic abuse. The poem is based on Elle, a character in the show, The Society. I’m aware this doesn’t cover Elle’s full story, but it wasn’t completely meant to. I just wanted to write a poem about abuse and added some of the events that occurred in Elle’s life to it. I don’t know if I want to add onto and make an ending, but I did want to show that there is always a way out of an abusive relationship, even if it might not feel like it.
TRIGGER WARNING: there is talk of physical abuse and wanting to die.
He said he doesn’t even know what it means,
When he set fire to my heart, by pouring gasoline.
And pretty soon the love I had with him, became as addicting as nicotine.
So what do you do when you become an addict? Simply wish it away?
Put your head between your knees and start to sway and let the cold air rush through your head enough to make you lay
Down on your bed and cry yourself to sleep because you can’t get away?
When the reasons right there where it’s always been: you have been led astray.
You were taken from the safety of the friends you had left, and the family that would still see you, and had been escorted, hand in hand by a monster,
You go out with a girlfriend to a quaint little café, and apologize profusely for you 1 and a half hour delay.
Remember to pull your sleeves down missy,
What happens when he hits, and punches and throws
Objects to the ground, the walls, and lastly at you…
Leaving welts the size of softballs, and bite marks that look like shark bites.
Hiding in the corner with your arms around your head, wishing so much, how you wish you were dead.
He removes your hands from you tear stained cheeks,
and says that he would never truly hurt you,
So long as you never leave.
In your times of despair, where oh where could you go?
And then you catch yourself,
Wondering about where to go when you know you’ll never be truly free.
Anyone who’d help, would instantly become liabilities.
He’s at work one day, so you slip out to church, to see if the Lord your God, might really work.
It’s empty when you enter,
But find a place in the front corner.
A woman comes in, and sits at another pew,
But looks over, and spots you.
She sees you crying, and inches her way forward, to place a hand, on your shaking shoulder.
You break down and tell her the story of how it all began, how he chose you, picked you, “He made me what I am!”
Your attempt to kill him: futile.
And when he found out, he flashed that smile so vile.
He held his hand to your throat and said something so putrid,
You ran to the bathroom to vomit.
Then got up, and closed the lid.
The stranger moved her hand to your wet face,
And moved the hair out of your way, to give you an embrace.
She said it wasn’t right for him to be hurting you,
And she would help you every step of the way,
Although you pull away and shout no,
because it’s the only thing you think you’ll ever know
To say when someone says they’ll help you.
He said it once, now look at the mess you’ve gotten into.
After much persistence on the stranger’s side,
You agreed, and she brought you inside
Her house, warm and welcoming,
Something you haven’t felt since maybe
She made a makeshift bed beside hers, and brought you food and water,
As if you were a forgotten puppy doing time in a shelter.
