Mirror

That silver surface glares at me Threatening me to take a look And daring me to see what it sees. I can't bring myself to do it. I can’t bring myself to see what he’s created. He's sitting across the room from me Yet it’s like he doesn’t see me at all. Maybe he can’t see me behind what he's done. Is it the purple, black and blue marks Skewed across my body like a painter gone wild? Is it the finger-shaped splashes of red along my neck? Or is it the blood trickling from my nose and lip? The words passing through his lips that once made me melt Now stab me like a molten knife. Bitch, whore, slut. Choice words that seemed to be his favorite. Fatass, cow, bitch again. Anything past that would seem obscene to repeat. Yet I believed him. Flashes of the recent events run through my head. Head connecting to door jam. Back hitting wall. Fist meeting ribs. Palm meeting my face So hard that I see the entire night sky behind my closed eyes. I don’t feel the pain from his actions. Its what he doesn’t do that hurts. No more I love you And no more I’m sorry He just hits and then stares And dares me just like that goddamn mirror. I can’t even look at myself anymore. Im disgusted with what I see. The physical scars are nothing Compared to the damage he left on my spirit. They’re nothing compared to how he stole everything. My confidence. My friends. My trust in anyone near to me. No one knew. They couldn’t. Letting them see me broken and destroyed Was worse than the abuse. So I stayed. That little green ring on my left hand Was his promise of forever and always. Promises of bruise-less tomorrows And of ache-less eternities. But instead it serves as a reminder Of hands around my neck Gasping short breaths, And the distinct memories of sudden blackness. Memories of torn clothing and Blood stains down the front of my shirts, Plates crashing at my feet and on my back, Locked doors with no way out, The cold wall pressed against my pink shoulders. There are the memories of Clumps of hair twisted in his fingers, The look of hate in his blue eyes, And knuckle shaped bruises on my cheekbones Stealthily disguised. My mask was make up, a smile, and an excuse. I had so many excuses. He said that it was out of love That he hit me. The bruises along my ribs were his kisses. Scabs along my back were his embraces. The welts on my shoulders from the frying pan That he threw with that pitchers arm, Those were his gentle touch. And I endured it all. I fought everyday to tell him I loved him Until the day he stopped loving me. That day he gave me one last thing. No it wasn’t a small scar on my left arm. That was from a year earlier. No it wasn’t a blow to the jaw. That was two weeks before. The last gift he ever gave me was my freedom. My freedom wrapped in a box of bruises and scars. But I bare my scars like medals of Honor. Never again will I fall for that. I wont fall for the boy trying to be a man Thinking the only way to do so is to rough up his girlfriend. So this is my freedom, And I stare that mirror I once hated in the face. I see hazel eyes finally free of Their bloodshot prison and caked on makeup. I see lips able to effortlessly stretch themselves Into a smile or laugh. A torso released from icepacks And a stomach finally settled after One too many painkillers. I flinch less when approached. I trust more in those I don’t know. I love myself, And I know that’s a hell of a lot more than he ever did.