Surviving Abuse and What It Looks Like

those paper-cut words and

poetry’s pornographic pulse

both raw language as it bleeds…


my bones have broken

not my beliefs,

but your power


I’ve survived your hate

but barely escaped my own

you taught me well, sickle and plow


but . . . I never was good enough

now,  I’ve become a better me

for failing to follow your belief


of my own insignificance 


I stand before the harvest moon

a scythe in my palms

and core the apple


I’ve given birth,

as you could not.

I’ve held life I adore


in my womb,

as you could not,

my hands


my heart,

as you could not,

my breath


my soul,

as you could not.


And these tiny humans

my gifts, my blessings,

I have loved them,


nurtured them,

watched them grow

as you could not.


And so I thank you

for all your ugliness

and how it taught me


how not to be

how not to navigate

the waters of this life;


still as they sometimes are

their depth, far-reaching

but your poison was discarded


upon the mossy bank

along with your excuses

useless tools & the apple’s rotten core


Surviving Abuse, This Is What It Looks Like

© Grace Black

A small preview of what I am working on. #amwriting

Love and Ink,


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