the first time was obviously a mistake.
it was the alcohol acting, not you.
the second, i’m told, was my fault;
my tone was too harsh.
the third and fourth times were confusing.
i accepted the flowers and chocolate you offered as pacifiers anyway.
the fifth took dinner outside, at a lush restaurant of my choice.
it was a rosy night which ended with you pledging to do better,
to never repeat that foul act of laying your hands on me, ever again.

yet, the sixth time came faster than the fifth.
and so did the seventh, eighth and ninth times.
till i lost count.
if blows were rain, insults were the storm yours came with.
your words cutting deep, bleeding into the crevices of my soul.
can’t tell which blow freed me.
how many years has it been?
all i know is, when i finally left,
it was with broken ribs, lost pregnancies and shattered dreams.
and i have since been free.


this is the first of a three-part poetry i’m piecing together on abuse, love and self worth.

this was about finding the courage to leave abusive relationships that don’t serve you. i hope you enjoyed it. thanks for reading.

the second part (which will be on self worth) drops next week God willing πŸ˜‰

stay safe & mask up!😷

love 😘

liz.