I Was There

"It took him years to apologize for the physical abuse I suffered."
I stay silent.
"It took him even longer to stop the emotional abuse."
I remain quiet.
I'm sorry for the silence that causes me to force the little girl inside to remember
what she didn't want to see.
To remember the pain, resentment, anger, poverty, and despair that filled the air
every evening at dusk.
To remember the anxiety, the tension, the dissention, the concussion.
The cleaning of bruises while still on the floor that somehow with each careful dab
opened the wound over my heart a little more.
Wishing we could be like the families on T.V.
Wondering what is wrong with us and why it is always me that see's the ugliness, the
unsightliness, the cleaning of the deed.
Hateful moments followed by love, sorrow, and forgiveness.
The cycle seemed endless for years and years accompanied by my stinging, angry, tears.
I ran from home quick as I could not sure if I should look behind me.
Feeling the hands of misery around my throat preparing to devour me.
So you see, you don't have to tell me about the hopelessness, the heartache, the
distressing nightmare.
Although you didn't see me, I felt every heartbroken moment because I was there.

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