every moment of his bleeding hands

Almost 20 and still                                                                            

I cannot write about the time you hit me                                  

and wouldn’t stop                                                   

I am all out.                                                      

For years, the smell of chlorine                                        

stuck to my skin like perfume

and once, in February

the blood so thick I couldn’t swallow.

I let that part of me circle down the drain.                    

I swore to never tell anyone               

about the taste

of dried blood on  your teeth.

Your knuckles ripping me apart 

at almost 20, and still,

I need you more than water.                                    

I hit the wall, the phone rings, and everything                                                         

goes blue


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