Every week in the UK, two women die at the hands of their partner or ex-partner. Even those women who aren’t murdered suffer from severe trauma…I wrote this back in 2009 and it is a true story about a bad time in my life. I originally wrote it for a spoken word event; it is meant to be read out loud, so bear that in mind.
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You were Jekyll and Hyde.
Though we were more Tina and Icke
Than Bonnie and Clyde.
Everything we owned bought with drug cash,
You drove me round in your 50 grand Audi, flush and flash.
All the girls in town wanting you, all the guys fearing you
And here I am, near you
24/7
Withering in your reflected glory,
Drunken
In my own stupid fairy story,
Missing the happy ending.
I find long brown hairs in our bed
‘They’re yours’ you said, but mine are red.
You come home at 3am with a bleeding head and a broken hand
I find stashes of cash, more than 15 grand!
And when I finally have the nerve to open my mouth
I am thrown by my throat out the fucking house.
As time goes on, making love turns to rape
Forget kissing or foreplay:
You say I’m shit anyway.
I try to find ways to escape that abuse but
You just hold me down when I refuse.
You say you want a baby and so I don’t take the Pill
But when I get ill
With the ectopic pregnancy, that made me bleed internally.
I needed an operation, a blood transfusion.
You never even visited me.
I used to drive 80 miles to see you in jail.
Like a beaten dog still wags its tail,
Wrapped up in your crazy world
Common sense has failed,
Along with my judgement of normality.
I now constantly question
Each integral piece of me,
Revising my personality
Daily
So maybe, one day
You may love me.
Tell me:
What’s the reason tonight
That you wanna fight?
The mashed potato wasn’t smooth enough?
I said too much.
I was on the phone too long to my Dad.
All my friends are slags.
I didn’t buy the right type of Fanta:
Now was it Diet or normal I got the black eye for?
I can never remember.
More than those fists
And your unwelcome dick
Your mind games have
Ripped
Me
Open.
Your meek apologies like sticky little plasters
Over weeping wounds.
My precious mind.
So traumatised.
Paralyzed.
Paranoid.
Destroyed.
Only now thinking back,
Can I see the true horror.
I wrench the car sideways onto the hard shoulder
To throw up,
Feeling older
And colder, after those two whole years
Of fear.
I survived.
But died
Inside.
Trust has flown.
My personality blown
To bits.
by Zoo L.
Zoë's Mental Notes 