I Held It Together

I never kept a clean house, truth be told.

I didn't have time to sit still long enough but to 

fold a small amount of clothes before

I headed back to work.

I kept my children clean.

They had food in their bellies.

I worked hard for pennies but

I never felt like it mattered.

I carried his tone. I carried

his fake love in my mind, my heart.

I lingered too long wondering about 

something and he would place

his disgusting thoughts into my

mind. 

Reminded me he was the man of the

house. So many times, bent over

his knees like a bad child, whipped.

As though I needed that for a kink

he had. 

And no one knew how he was.

My voice was silenced.

See I made so many people believe

that he was:

Charming.

Helpful.

Loving.

Kind.

What a facade I gave. 

Behind it all was strikes and

welts that took me back to childhood.

So many believed my story I gave.

And when his fire roared, he was labeled

"misunderstood". 

I was broken. 

I used to believe death was 

more honorable than divorce. 

Because the shame so many placed

upon me for leaving him.

Still..

They never saw the bruises he

left in places no one cared to see.

I gave a crooked smile. 

While bleeding internally 

and was told by many in my family

"too strong to be abused". 

"You didn't think things straight, did you?" was

also spoken to me. 

As though the strength I carried was

 layers of varnish that could

disqualify suffering as a survival technique.

He didn't just growl.

He unmade the bright woman I was.

With words that were poisoned darts.

With his evil silence.

With all the kind of manipulation 

that makes you doubt you

still deserve to have a heartbeat.

let alone hear it.

And still...

I fed my children.

I walked barefoot many places

and made meals of scraps from

empty cardboard boxes and milk

cartons. I spread thin the last

vegetable so his hunger would be

sated and the children would 

not go empty.

I was last. 

I laughed with my children as

they made jokes only to flinch in 

chance that he didn't like what was

said. I protected where I could 

and was seen as the monster verses

the guardian. 

I held back my tears.

I went to work.

Came home, then back to work.

Came back to what seems like

the darkness of fire burnt mist.

He broke me. 

He found a way to separate me.

He almost made death the solution.

Yet when the children decided he was

their savior, I regretted being the woman

who held it all together.

He noticed and mentioned it.

Sought and found a surrogate. Then when

I explored his lies, found her.

I was pushed out and stripped of me.

I bore down myself and 

released. 

I still flinch.

I still freeze.

I even get loud in the wrong time

and at times, too quiet when I should not.

My soul remembers 

what my mind tries to bury. 

I am still standing. 

But because of that I lost so much. 

Yet because of the women before me 

who were told to stay - endure

I find my place.

I learn to smile through the blood and the

scars. 

I remember what is always told me to be,

what echoes beneath skin and bones, 

keep going. 

So I do.

I am not here because someone saved me

I am here because I saved myself.

I chose to breathe. 

even when every fiber of my being 

wanted to lay in the darkness of death.

I fight for me.

I fight for those who didn't get that voice.

I fought for the woman I was when no one

would do so for me.

SO I don't want anyone to tell me

what a "strong woman" looks like.

She looks like me.

Tired.

Grateful.

Angry.

Sacred.

She looks like every mother 

who worked hard to sacrifice herself

just to give her babies clean clothes, 

and some dignity.

And when I see another man "try"

to wrap his cruelty in charm,

I will name him out loud

before he buries the next woman in 

shame and dirt.

Because I lived. 

And I remember.

I won't let the world forget

what it cost me to survive 

when no one comes to save you.