This is no poem.
It is a confession.
I was raped in my home;
by a man that I loved.
Repeatedly.
It broke something in me.
It stole the peace out of my sleep.
It fueled my insomnia.
I once confronted him only to hear
"You was moving like you wanted it."
He spoke of my body parts like individual discardable possessions.
He brought up my trauma as if they were my transgressions.
He questioned my sanity and my mental state.
I only told him I didn't like that because it felt like being rape.
He retaliated by cheated repeatedly within eye shot knowing that I was stuck.
The abuse increased heavily as I removed all of my love.
My questions and attempted discussions were met with wrathful silence.
My days were filled with selected hardships and flooded with back-handed insults.
I learned something deeper than hate results from the exploitation of love.
