Violent Love

Scarlett had a ritual:

Walk in the front door, shut it silent and tight,

Scurry past the living room,

Jump left, hop right.

Say a quick prayer,

Into the bedroom she goes.

Lock the door, pray again, stay hidden till the sun rose.

But no one else was there, he'd left long ago.

Scarlett, indeed, but only some of them showed.

"Violet you're turning violet, Violet," she would laugh and scream.

Bruises all over each time Violet's girlfriend would beat.

Black, blue, purple, green, grey.

Bruises on her heart remained as the others would fade.

Violet feared the grave.

Marks on his arms, hands, neck and feet.

"Only cigarette burns, that's nothing, she's just being kinky."

Mark never did bleed.

Her torture was slow, her stare was singed in his mind.

Pain deep in his soul, Mark feared others had gone blind.

Ella was tired, tired as hell.

Scrubbing the floor all day, only to be yelled

at by the prince who had once road in on a white horse.

Now Cinderella was trapped in her castle by force.

In his eyes, only she was to blame.

Playing, playing all his mind games.

Mari saw through the windows but could not go out.

He controlled the money, the car, the house.

Only on Sundays at church where she could confess her "sins,"

would she see other people and not be trapped within.

But on those Sundays she could see past her neighbor's doors,

Scarlett, Violet, Mark, and Ella suffered so much more.

So the "ugly little worm" realized she could grow wings,

and Mariposa flew high so that others could see

that violence in love was no small thing.