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Violence Domesticated


Frozen in disbelief of the reality of us

crumbled into a stranger I’ve trusted my whole life

secrets of your hate spill into conversations filled with noise of abusive tones

of your expression of love; some how filled with blood

shed droplets upon my face streaming liquid rivers of the years I’ve waited

for the potential of your greatness to reach the pedestal that I’ve place the idea of who I wanted you to be.

pretty little lies I believe in my mind, it’ll never happen again;

but when my head hit the mirror, I see myself through my own eyes

but even they tell lies and whisper, “I’m okay”.

Who am I without the fantasy that I could make you love me

the way I remember in every fairytale, molded my mind to project

an image of who you’d never become.

I can’t remember when we laughed without strain

or when I didn’t have to explain why I love you.

All I see is the pressure of your might, willing to fight

with me but not for me, you channel

exploding episodes of world wars compacted into one zone,

homes disconnected from reaching aid,

I fade into the battle of my mind

pressed for a solution to smolder the rage,

but also to find an escape, I give the one thing you’ll take


beat with violence, passion, satisfaction, gratification

I wait for the hate.


© 2018 Leslie Robertson

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