| Musings | Prose | Spoken | Ponder | Prompts | Spotlights | Bookshelf | Reviews |
| Music | Videos | Promotions | Trending | News | Space | Comments |
Reminiscent of a time not too long ago when I felt truly loved by someone I thought was different, whom I truly believed in my heart was special.
This, someone, had promised never to hurt, use, abuse, and abandon me.
But here I sit alone, looking down at these stitches in my heart, as it barely clings to my chest, heartbeat fading and fading with each breath.
It has been three years since, but these scars seem so fresh, just
like yesterday.
Each time I'd look at them, they grow even fresher still.
How can I make these forbidden memories just go away?
How can I erase these forbidden carvings from this canvas
painting called my soul?
From my mother's womb I was made whole. Since I was a child, mom taught me the meaning of love...how to be loved, and the beauty of the entire package of it, I observed from the way my dad treated mom. I was a very happy child, an apple to both their eyes.
Although an only child, most would say that I was spoiled and I got the best of both worlds, a mother and a father, in contrast to those who grew up in a home with a single parent or additional sibling rivalries. Yes, I do not deny the being 'spoiled' part, being the only child and all, but sometimes I do wish I had siblings, a big sister or brother I can run to with my issues or a little brother or sister to whom I could pin the blame and escape trouble, but it was just me.
It seemed I was fully prepared to enter the real world. The puzzle box set I came wrapped in was indeed now completed. I looked exactly like the beautiful picture on its cover. No man, or anyone for that matter, could have stolen my joy and peace, moreover, taken advantage of me. I was indeed whole, but...
My darling husband, I am writing this letter to you because this is what its come to be. You won't talk to me, and when I do capture your attention, the look on your face, it's as if you were looking at some hideous monster. I do hope you read this letter first and not discard it like I feel you did with me, without reading the signs, truly seeing me, my pain; listening to my unspoken heart as it cries to you within.
Can't you see there is a piece missing from me? You were supposed to be my first love, my soul-mate, my best friend. Dammit! We were middle and high school sweethearts. We've known each other through our whole childhood tears, but the man you've become I do not recognize anymore...never would I have imagined in a million years the little boy who hugged me, consoled me when I fell off the monkey bars at 6 years old, would have become the person you are today.
I can see you trying to fix it, trying to put back the missing puzzle pieces, but what's the use of putting back two pieces of the puzzle when you deceptively steal three more? Don't you think I would notice? Can't you see the entire puzzle set is me? Besides, when we were little toddlers we learned that you cannot fit a circle piece into a triangle hole, nor a square into a circle's, so why do you continue to do this? All you are doing is hurting me even more. But until you take the time to see...truly see beyond the layer of what you consider a toy (me), you will never grasp the magnitude of the cracks, the damages that are already evident within my heart.
You see darling, the thing about emotional and physical abuse is that it never allows you to truly forget. It is like a sharp spur, a thorn that buries itself deep within your inner being, a virus disease that slowly eats away your self-esteem. We've been in this marriage for almost five years. The irony, was when we first reconnected in college, you told me all the beautiful things I heard from my father and treated me exactly how a woman...a wife was to be treated. It was as if you were a fly on the wall of my childhood home and witnessed the love to which I genuinely received from my parents, you were the direct mirrored image of that love to which mom said I deserved as a little girl. You loved me for whom I were skin deep, but lately, it is as if I don't even exist in your world anymore. I thought I was beautiful, at least that's what you first told me. But you cannot even stand to look at me. See Me! I am the same within, I am the same me my love, but...
I forgave you the first time you strayed. To this day you still deny nothing happened, even when I caught you rushing to put on your pants, and that hussy, she looked at me with a smirk on her face like she'd all the time in the world to get dressed, she wasn't even trying to give me the respect I deserved in my own home. Come on! Our kids were in the adjacent room; She was my maid of honor, my best friend. Even though I did not actually catch you committing the crime, doesn't mean you could play me a fool. You say things were just getting started when I walked in, but to me, it looked like you both were satisfied and well fed.
When I am stressed, I eat. I began to gain the pounds, as the pounds began to multiply on my body, I began to stress even more. Did you help? No! I thought we were a team, a unit. We took the vows, "in sickness and sorrow" you said you would love me until the day you die. Can't you see I am sick because of the sorrow you are causing me? Instead of helping, you continue to load your gun with hurtful bullets, fiery words, and shoot them at me. You call me fat, you call me lazy, but the most hurtful of all is when you called me nasty. These pointy combinations of words did it for me, destroyed the sensitive part of me I thought was well fortified...my soul.
Your hateful words became my reality, it distorted the vision I made for myself. Anyone with high self-esteem can be broken down gradually. You hear the same thing over and over and eventually it becomes a truth. This is how I feel. This is now the subconscious image of whom I am. It turned out I was never as strong as I believed myself to be.
It's incredible how you love our children the way you do. I admit, you do take care of them as a father should, but what about me? Am I not a part of their making? Did they not come from my womb that we grew and nourished together? Honestly, you planted the seed, but I cared and protected them for what seemed to be an eternity through all elements of your continuous abuse. You'd think I'd get some credit.
There are no boundaries with you however, and your existence, is an oxymoron within itself. You say you love our children, but you curse me, you call me names, you slap and fist me in front of them. Is this your love? Can't you see each time they stare in silence as their mother suffers your abuse, they are terrified? They only run to you with love because they are forced to do so, afraid of what you would do to them if they get out of line. It's not genuine love, who would want such a love like this? Love should never be a forced gesture. This is how I feel when you say you love me during the same breath your hands rain down blows and blows upon my head. You beat me because you love me? You beat me because I am me? I don't understand this concept, your rationale of why you continuously keep taking a piece of me...
(To be continued)
Vee is a poet and writer by heart from the West Indies. He has published several series of books. To name a few, "Visions of Prosetry, A King's Fall & Dark Haze" ... Continue Reading
KVINC
Leave a Comment
Greetings this is Vee. The above prose was inspired through the photo I borrowed from Pixabay.com to match the inspired prose "Scars". "Puzzle Pieces" is its sequel.
This morning I was listening to the song, 'Sunshine' by Babyface (a romantic love song about the descriptive feelings a man has for his lover), and I was inspired to write this short story. If you listen to the lyrics of this song, you will notice it is in direct contrast to the literature above.
Recall, I love to write stories with a twist that goes against the grain of the average perspective of any given situation or circumstance from time to time. This story was also inspired through the lens of victims of abuse and things I have witnessed growing up, or even perceived from the household of many including my own.
Just to be clear, this story is meant to be fictional, although laced with hints of truth from my personal life. The reason I am able compose a piece such as this is because I too experienced physical and emotional abuse by the hands of others. I see myself in this story. It's a sensitive piece because when I was reading it aloud to one of my friends for feedback, my voice surprisingly caught, and I did all I could to keep from crying. Yeah, Yeah, I'm an emotional and sensitive soul, although I seemed pigged-skinned. So what!
The above is a story prompt game I would love to build with you. I've started the thread and now it's your turn to add to the story. Each submission will follow the trend and take the story to new realms, twists, and turns. Here are the rules. Have fun! You may also find our story on our platform forum by following this "Link"
Add to the story below in the post forum