Domestic Violence

She wipes her blood up of the floor,
Wringing out her mop,
Sopping up her dignity.
Her tears flow into the stream of cleaning solution,
Her fists clenched,
She shakes in anger.

She didn’t even do anything wrong.
He came home in a foul mood,
Longing for someone to beat down,
And he used her as his punching bag…again.

He told her not to fight back, not to scream.
“Just take it like a woman,” he says.
She hates herself for following his orders.

The blood coagulates, and the bruises form.
“It really wasn’t that bad,” she tells herself.

She walks into the next room to kiss her sleeping children.
“I love you my darlings,” she coos into innocent dreamful ears.
She vows to protect them,
Tells herself that by staying she gives them a better life;
But it’s a lie.

Staying is the dagger with which she slits their wrists.
She thinks she is keeping them safe,
But doesn’t realize the true danger they are in.

They will cry themselves to sleep, and blame themselves for the fights,
And,
Sooner or later,
They will beat or be beaten.
The will perpetuate the pattern of abuse.
The cycle continues.