The First Husband
April is Domestic Violence and Sexual Assault Awareness month (among others).
I am a survivor of Domestic Violence.
I felt the wash of rage strike through my stomach when I saw you there
With a ONETWO punch of viciousness, I cringed as if it were a physical blow
Violence flashed before my blackened eyes that have long since healed
I remembered in crystal clear detail the fire you created
That burned my possessions forcing me to be your possession
That charred my childhood into echoes of musical damnations
Removing the blessings my mother gave to me
On sunny afternoons in the plant room of my childhood home
And you, with lighter fluid in hand, me begging forgiveness
You tossing key upon key into the blaze despite my please, thank you.
There you were, glaring your judgement on my friend
Turning your nastiness towards someone I love
Every bit of forgiveness I thought I could give was erased
“I think you’re just being vulgar for the sake of vulgarity.”
Fuck you! You’d still have the wife you pledged to protect
If you wouldn’t have pulled her gun on her, or slapped her,
Or pushed her, or punched her, or threatened her, or raped her
Or abused her, or took her love and threw it like your smelly shoes, away.
You no longer are allowed access to me, you son of a bitch.
You are denied access to love from me or my tribe.
You are rebuked and are denied absolution from my heart because of your actions.
Lie all you want to the people in your life now, but we both know what happened.
We both know you are not the “Christian” you claim to be.
We both know what you’ve done.
The door is closed, return to your own hell.