Standing Up for Me

What do you mean by 'I'm lucky that you like it?'

What would have done to me if you did not like it?

What will you do to me some time in the future to me, if you do not like it?

It was a joke, an effing joke you say?

Do not dismiss my feelings, if you do not like them.

I am angry, and it is my right to voice my anger.

I cannot force you to listen to me, but I hope you do

Now you have to stand up and intimidate me?

I can stand up too and not let myself be intimidated by your show of dominance.

Yes, you are stronger than me and can overpower me, but I will not be intimated by you

What are you going to do?

I can see you are angry, deciding what to do.

You have three choices:

1) You can just walk out of here and not come back.

2) You can do what you want to me, and I can add my name to the Me Too hashtag.

3) We can talk and listen to each other and work things out.


What do you want to do?







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My Choice

My choice, it is MY CHOICE!

What you want does not matter now.

You never cared for what I wanted before;

Only for what you wanted.

So now, I have a decision to make.

Make without your input and advice.

And I will choose what is best for me.

FOR ME, not you.

Why does it matter now for you?

When it never did before?

You just wanted your fun without asking me.

You used me, and I am paying the price.

The price for not standing up for myself.

For not walking out without saying good-bye.

I will do fine without you.

Without your input, I will make my choice.



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Staying Together - Part 1

The first secret to staying together is just listen to her:

whether she is exploding in anger or want to discuss something uncomfortable to you.

Stay silent and listen.

Listen to her.

Listen to what is correct, admit it and resolve to do better.

And mean it!

Listen to what you disagree with to discuss it later.

And do it!

Listen without judgment.

For love to flourish, listening to the good and the bad must be heard.

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Who Should Stew?

You make me out to be the bad guy,

and you are totally innocent.

I need to learn to laugh when you do that.

Show you that you have not gotten to me.

That would be much better than me letting me stew.

Stewing is a habit that I need to break.

Change is not so easy.

But it is better to let you stew instead of me. 

I want to be free of you.

To not carry you at all.

Just let you stew and for me,

for me to walk away happy.

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My Fault

His dinner; my fault

I tell him why I am late with his meal:

I started it late because traffic was bad; he yells at me for not doing the errands sooner.

My voice is filled with intonated anger that sets him off.


 His slap; my fault

His palm across my face hard. Then face to face, he asks icily, "Why am I making him angry?"

I feel scared; I avert my eyes from his gaze.


His words; My fault

He takes my aversion as a sign of my guilt, so he pushes hard against the fridge.

His hand tightly on my jaw; my eyes wide with fear.

"Who is it?" he demands.

"No one..." I start to tell him, but he interrupts with an acerbic tone:  "Liar, Slut, Whore, Bitch."


His reaction; My fault

Those words break my fear and unleash a torrent of anger.

Remembering all the times, I smelled perfumes that were not mine,

I coldly answer back, "I am not the lying, slutty whoring bitch here."

I see his eyes widen with rage, and say, "I am sorry, sorry, sorry."


His torture: My fault

With one forearm holding me in place, he pulls my tube top below my breasts.

Next he twists a breast hard, causing me anguish: he smiles at my distress.

In the face of pain, defiance sets in, and I spit in his face.


His rape; My fault

He slams in fist into my face, then tosses me to the floor, and tears off my clothes.

Dazed, I do not realize what is happening at first, then I scream no, please don't.

I try to fight back, but he grabs me by the hair and slams my head hard against the floor:

Again and again, until the fight goes out of me, and he penetrates me.

After he ejaculates in me, he questions me as to why I do not respect him as I should.

After all he informs me that he respects me.


His decision; My fault

Still partly stunned, I look him in the eye incredulously and say, "You respect me?

"You respect me?" He smiles, until I start to laugh at him and his words.

Laughing, I fail to see what is coming, but I suddenly feel his hands tightly around my throat.

I futilely try to break his grip or get him off of me.

Slowly I feel myself slipping away into darkness, wishing I could prevent my impending demise,

and then as I slipp into oblivion, I have one final thought:

My death; my fault.





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Damn! Damn! Damn!

Damn! Damn! Damn!

I did not want to hear it,

even though I would come one day.

So I feel angry and upset,

yet no one is there to be upset at.

You are my friend- a good one -

yet you are dying,

and I feel lost and adrift.

I want to lash out,

but Death feels nothing; it just takes.

Soon it will take you,

you who I care for because you

have helped me through my life's journey.

Hence, I will help you to the end.

I will carry you within me;

however, now, I feel like hitting back,

but only air is there to hit.

And Death will neither care nor not care;

it only comes to do its job.

A job which makes me upset and angry

because I care about you more than I want to admit.

I lack words to express how I feel -

how I feel about life's unfairness and you.

Damn! Damn! Damn!

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My Other Child

My other child wants.

He always wants.

Never thinks of me, only himself.

I give in to him

because it is easier

than fighting him,

with his whines of his needs.

What about my needs?

Unimportant he believes.

Unimportant unless he wants something.

He tells me I want food now;

Now, not not in an hour. NOW!

Sigh. I feed him to shut him up.

He tells me I want this place clean;

Yet he fails to clean up after himself,

and I get blamed for the mess.

I need help with our daughter;

I'm busy he replies.

Right...busy playing his latest game.

He is still on the game hours later

when I again ask for help with our daughter.

Snidely he tells me you're the one who got pregnant.

I bite my tongue and my reply die in my mouth:

You sure liked sticking it in,

but you sure hate to deal with what came out.

That night he comes up and pesters me for sex.

Too tired to argue, I agree.

On the bed I lie emotionless, and motionless

while he does me.

He finishes and asks me with a sneer on his face

have fun, did you?

My response is a sigh, get out of bed

and to close the bedroom door behind me.

I sleep on the couch in my office,

preparing to repeat the day again tomorrow.

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The Meal

The Meal


Tonight is the night that I will finally do it.

Finally sleep with my bf.

I feel nervous, happy, anxious.

A long time I have put him off, but no longer.

He comes over, and I make dinner for us.

Wash the dishes and sharp knives and put the in the rack.

My pretty pink rack that I will not change for him.

After dinner, he leads me to the couch where we make out

as the tv drones on in the background.

Finally it is time and he leads me to my bedroom.

He's been so patient with me;

waiting for me to say yes.

I love his patience; I never thought he would stay with me.

He takes his time and makes me feel good.

Eventually we come together and it feels good.

I am glad I waited for him..

I tell him he made me feel good.

He smiles and tells me has something to tell me.

I smile when he tells me that.

I dream of a ring on my finger.

He tells me that he's moving to Anchorage.

I say nothing. Wondering....wondering....

Will he ask me to go with him?

Instead he tells me that he do not want to be a father now.

I tell him I do not want to be a mother now.

I feel happy that he does not want to pressure me about having kids.

Then he tells me he did not use a condom.

I freeze. I feel fear, then scared, then anger

all the while wondering will this get me pregnant?

So, a plan forms in my mind.

I smile sweetly asking him if he is hungry.

He replies that he is, so I get up to make him another meal

and walk with him to the kitchen.

We go to the sink where he asks me what am I making.

Sweetly smiling, I tell him what I will make for him:

MC Pig's Rocky Mountain Oysters,

while reaching for the knife that I will use to get the oysters.

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The Accuser of my Tattered Soul

From me, you ripped my soul.

My soul is in tatters because of your desires

Desires of yours, selfish ones, took my sense of self away.

Away, I drift in the wind with my pain.

Pain that I do not want to face.

Face is something I do, but deny.

Deny, I am in pain and hurt.

Hurt is what I feel.

Feel with no feeling what I do.

Do what to do?

Do I want to go on?

On to face my pain and anger.

Anger that I bury.

Bury my anger at you is what I do, but why?

Why do I bury my anger at you who wronged me?

Me the victim has become the accuser of me.

Me, the accuser is myself.

Myself did wrong, and I cry for my mistakes.

Mistakes that never happened.

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