The Grim Choice
No one knows what it's like,
it always being a constant fight.
I wish I could go on strike,
and then maybe I would be alright.
I know it will never end,
and that's something I accept;
cause I have a friend,
with me when I have wept.
Don't feel sorry for me.
It was entirely my choice.
It may sting like a bee,
but down inside I rejoice.
The abuse may go on,
but I am no longer with him.
Our love is completely gone,
and all that's left is grim.
👁 3💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.