Twisted Velvet Chains

You
told me
I was ugly.

 

You told
me
I was cold.

 

You said
my surface beauty
meant compassionless.

 

You
called me
selfish bitch.

 

You called
me
trashy slut.

 

You stuck your fingers
in your cunt,
ran them through my tangled hair,
spat in my face --
I let you.

 

You liked to
slap me.

 

You needed to
choke me.

 

You encouraged me
to drive a knife
into my trusting arm.

 

But still I stroked your cheek
when you’d overdose,
because I loved you
like a child
who had no where else to turn.

 

But, Mother
can you please
release me
from your twisted grip?
I know
it’s not a prison cell,
but heavy grief grows mould.

 

I need to
clean these chains—these strings of
velvet woe,
before these memories
stimulate one more
masticating echo.

 

 

 

-- Jessica Bell