Angiebeagoodgirl

 my cell is nice with six windows a full bath 2 bedrooms and a fridge full of food I get to pick out myself I can walk down the block and go on bike rides I can call my mother He knows I won't say anything There's no evidence except that even as I write this I worry he might come across it and the honeymoon I'm on will be interrupted for another session of "Why don't you ever just listen to me?" followed closely by "It's always my fault right?" and finishing up with "I'm sorry IF I hurt you but you..." and me apologizing for remembering that I'm still just a prisoner

 I picked a fight because it's so easy to do I know just where to strike because you're covered in buttons I made the wrong face: "What?" It's not a question, it's a threat. I want to break free but you're not done with me yet. So I'll keep acting like there's nothing wrong. After all, with no bruises how could I prove it? And you'll keep flipping tables and making our babies scream in fear. I'll still be here

You have a talent for tragedy Every wayward pilgrim does their wings dusted with open earth as they've forgotten how to fly birds on a wire     they're just waiting for  the "right" wind     to take to the open air  and live    like stars do  so    far       above            us

 It's easy to see now like watching a movie and you already know the twist at the end cause you've been here a thousand times and stripped of your lies and the right angle who the fuck are you? You're no white horse riding shiny armor wearing damsel rescuer No, You're the insufferable drought of character development and originality

 write me novel,  text in tones of dulcet caresses  make me unbelievable scrawl my skin out  on your desk top rip my throat; an  open fountain of ink  throw me out,   then reel me back in  like whiplash,  car crash  boom,    smack,       smash!  let me tumble in  to the things   you don't talk about  be the image   you fight before sleep  marry me with witty distaste  bury me with haste  tell them I'm the one who  flopped on to the deck  and begged you to save  me from drowning

 Is this the worst of us?  Mashed up into tiny parts awful and anatomically correct  You are so understanding It takes our ship washed  up on the shore it took me in   my own private hurricane  Did you kiss her back? Even if I wanted to work it out  I saw your face when I said  her name. Is this the worst of me?  hot, burning jealousy

 There's something to be said for a man who steps in where he didn't need to. Who took the lead in raising two foul-mouthed little girls,  so used to being left, they'd never bothered to settle down. I had knots in my hair and dirt on my jeans and you wrangled me along with the rest. I was given things I'd never had before. Like stability. You weren't perfect. You knew the world was a scary place for us and we were too willing to play in the street. You held us back with a firm tone and sometimes we bit you. It wasn't until I'd stepped out did I put together how much you had done for us. I miss you.  

He had a talent for turning math into sex plucking out the numbers to vibrate my libido. I spent borrowed nights  walking on the ceiling collecting my payments  (he was leasing the tears   on my lashes).  "You made your choices"  It was a fallacy.  Passing the buck (and some change) over to the person who wanted everything but. He was the one who had to  trace the map with blistered fingertips and kisses he'd given away.  I hung back and wove myself a cozy nest of fibs.