30 July 2019

plaster saint

you would recoil in horror
at the mere thought 
of crushing a cockroach
you would not even 
kill an ant, no

then you
stabbed me repeatedly
until I had to hold my insides in
with my hands and fight
for air

my body remembers 
being your punching bag
your mattress
your safe space
your well

the place from which 
you would fill yourself -
and pour it all out 
on someone else.

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