Poetry on life after narcissistic abuse / emotional abuse
Reflecting pieces of who I was,
the mirror judges my messed-up
hair, runaway mascara, and
bloodshot eyes. I am the hot mess
and the undead princess incarnate.
Tied up to his invisible bed,
I lay awake; sprawled across hell
every time he’s denied me, but
have I ever denied him? No, never.
Screaming and thrashing, I beg him
to see where I’ve been and to try on
the ripped fishnet, the combat boots,
and the spiked collar he once adored.
He won’t travel — not to me and not
to himself. I alone wear this costume.
Dreaming of more, I sing the idiot’s song
of “but, I love him” and hope for a time
that doesn’t burn. The clock says 5:29
in the morning, but it’s not time to dream.
I run far away from him and never look behind —
I run from the toxic love that only hated me;
I run from the lies and infidelity that cut me;
I run from the life of torture I was smarter than;
and I run to find freedom from the monster.
Behind bars, he won’t travel, so I am safe
until I’m not safe. Will I ever truly be safe?
His rage rips through me as if he were choking
me to death; but I am the lucky one. I didn’t
stay long enough to stop breathing. Though,
I feel like I’m dying just the same.