Awhile back I wrote this for my mother.

It’s really for all abused people (male - female) who have survived the devastation caused by someone who claimed to love you.

In this poem the abuser is the male, it could easily be the female.

Mom still communicates like an abused woman, she still wonders if all the horrible things he said about her are possibly true... that maybe she is as bad and at fault as he claims.

I hope she will recover and the happy person she once was, will bloom again.

The Abuser

If he was the foundation

you were
the solid ground on which he stood.

If he was the house

you were
the roof , the windows with storm shutters and
gingerbread trim.

Face it my dear

through all his bull,
you are the flower
that bloomed

in the middle of his shit.

Comments

Unknown said…

What an image. I wish more people could read this!

Love you Auntie!!!
Chelle

October 24, 2010 at 4:12 PM

Marc Chagall, Painter of Symbols

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