My body, my choice.
your seed left me, and your fists
began to find home
in my chest.
Like salmon beating
against a steadfast current,
your violence cycled horror
an inch at a time
When I finally
believed you would kill me,
I left.
I was 17.
The only other people who knew
were the boys in the other room
when you pummeled me.
I screamed for their help
and they listened,
but that’s all they did.
My body, my choice.
Brenda Warren 2013
Adventures in Poetry and Writing
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Brenda your powerful writing pounds the history straight to my heart and sympathy. I applaud your courage in writing about it.
Wouldn’t a meeting be wonderful? Oceans and continents separating us would make it difficult = travel exhausts me these days. Perhaps we could so a Skype video conference?
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Thank you, Viv. Meeting you would make my spirit smile on such a deep level. We could all come to France. 😉 Although that visit would have to be at least two years down the road for me.
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I applaud your courage in leaving this situation and in writing so powerfully about it. Shame on the boys next door. You’ve told this in a way that draws a reader in yet, avoids being overly emotional or maudlin. That takes skill and self-disciplne, and distance from the situation. I hope your life has much improved after this hard beginning.
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Thank you, Carol. I appreciate your comments. Life is beautiful. It took awhile for me to figure out a few things, but I wouldn’t change anything. Thanks again.
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Well told on the abusive relationship, Brenda. Brave piece of writing. Some day we have to sit down and talk. Thanks for sharing this.
Pamela
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Thank you, Pamela. Some day, I do hope we have the chance to meet and visit.
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