I attended a poetry slam for the first time last week and I never thought it would feel so refreshing to watch other people purge themselves of the weight the world has piled on them. I went to a poetry slam for the first time last week and I think I expected to find a bunch of pretentious people picking over the technical parts of poetry, comparisons, symbolism, and so on. I hate when my own judgments get in the way. What I found when I set aside the fear that I wouldn’t belong was that everyone there was more like me than I could imagine – just trying to share their truth, and I’m so thankful for how motivated it left me to spill mine with a heavier stream then I’d allow before.
Mental Abuse
It’s hard to call it abuse
Everyone starts looking for a bruise
Maybe a cut, long sleeves, sunglasses
Ya know, give me some evidence that he’s kicked your ass.
Had anyone thrown fists, it would have been me
Because the damage that was done is damage you can’t see
The moment he’s present, my guard goes up, my body tenses, churning gut
The sound of his voice summons bugs under my skin
My heart pounding so fast and I can’t seem to breathe in
He never dared hit me because the damage that would do
would mean he couldn’t play the victim when he’s in front of you
But I was scolded for cooking, told I’m too fat
Only he would ever love me when my weight fluctuates like that
Yelled at for spots the baby’s juice left on the floor
Every time I said no to sex, he’d push relentlessly, ask more and more
Eventually, I cave
Sex, cooking, I’m unloveable – must be my weight.
He’d come home from work, I’d hide in the babies room
Maybe if I’m quiet enough, I won’t have to talk to you
Uncomfortable in my own home, creeping about
As soon as he was home, I was planning a way out
It’s hard for me to call it abuse
Some people have had it so much worse
Yet I’d fight for that title
if it happened to you.
Much love, until next time.
Madeline May I... 