on my shoulders and among the knuckles of my fists
feel infected, like some septic reaction I'll always have.
I had given my heart- no romance but compassion,
understanding, tolerance. That mistake was my greatest,
wanting to help, waiting to heal, wishing to understand.
All that trust, all those beatings with the words he knew
would make me cry, make me hurt. It's a fault right here
in my heart, hoping for and trying for someone
who left me most terrified, most sick and shaken,
even more so because he knew it was my nightmare.
He shoved me back in time so I had to see it,
feel it, be it, be in it and there for it, all over again.