Every day and with every calculating word you stole part of me from me,

and you bore down on my mind until I came to fear my own thoughts.

Yet they still invaded my brain like dogged soldiers, as I waged a war against myself, fighting battle after battle that I could never win.

Shell-shocked, I felt nothing as you pushed me against the headboard, against the walls.

Always against what I wanted, but it was unclear what I did want.

As if I were rotting, I softened until you could reshape me, bending and twisting me into the image you had of the perfect girlfriend, presented and promised to you in glossy magazine pages.

It was after you went to prison for the final time that I realised how much you’d taken from me; I couldn’t get up by myself any more, even with the curtains open wide and the baby crying from his room.


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