What's Not To Love?

For the abused.

What's not to love about you?

the question eternally echoes in my head

but it merges with another yet intriguing one;

why am i not dead?

Can you answer me, eh mister?

would you pause a moment to listen to these questions above the sound of my heart ripping?

Are you interested in the pain and blood i spew forth from my adolescent lips?

Can you answer me, hear me even?

I look at you now and get my answer.

of course you can't.

what folly to even question you,

yours snores fill the entire room as you lay sprawled

on the very plantation where i had my innocence, my joy---

where my very humanity was uprooted.

you lay there, oblivious to this mild interrogation.

Fine then, i'll let my heart do the answering

for my jaw's too swollen to permit my tongue exit.

What's not to love about you; where do i begin?

for your qualities, like a snake's skin, glisten

i've known you my whole life

and for almost that long i've been dying.

Only to feel your arms when i attempt fleeing

the torture that resides there.

From my life giver i've recieved death

wasting away in sorrow's depth.

What's not to love?

i tilt my head away and wince at the throbbing in my neck,

the site of your obscenities are more vivid than the thick blanket with which you're warmed

and so i must turn lest i puke.

But i hold my already empty belly in check;

when will i be rescued from my bodie's wreck?

Who will hear my piercing screams, desperate and helpless,

just in time to prevent my mind from shrivelling as my heart already has?

Certainly not you. Not you mister.

Days filled with brutality,

none different from the previous,

torn, broken, pierced, ripped---

me.

They all become the same eventually,

different shades of suffering merging into one

to create the complete picture of my ordeal.

I view it everyday, this picture that you've made

with instruments most unique.

i see it when i'm robbed of the only thing i could ever offer

and in every stroke of your belt,

every strike of your fist,

every lash of your tongue,

i see it and i think;

What's not to love?

Should i hate you because you hate me?

could i kill you while you ceaselessly slay me?

That my own blood makes me bleed is an irony

but that the center of my turmoil is called love making

is bad humor at it's peak.

Won't you speak?

You've awakened and you stare at me.

There's nothing new to expect

i've grown numb waiting in the wasteland of depression

for my rescuer's appearance.

All that came was you, founder of my sadness.

"How long have you been up?"

I smell your bad breath from the wide distance i managed to make on my knees.

i hear your voice cracked--product of your screaming at me

i look straight into your alcohol reddened eyes,

and i see your wickedness; my disease.

I smile. "Not long." i respond.

What's not to love?

You get up and walk out and i exhale breath

my head gets foggy but i feel lifted;

i have never felt like this before

i feel like i should be afraid but i'm not---i can't!

I thought i was on the chair but the floor seems a lot closer,

finally! Finally you're the one who's going to be the loser!

i'm escaping, leaving at last

going somewhere i will never again be entangled in your evil grasp.

I hear you come back in, you rush to my side yelling;

ah, if only you knew i can't hear you

all my senses gradually leave except my mind.

It seems that good book was right the whole time.

all i see are lights, all i hear are songs,

at the most unexpected time, my hero has come.

Thank you mister, for giving me birth;

Goodbye mister, i've been rescued by life...

one that would seem to you is death.

Author's Note

Please do share your honest opinions...

Reviews

[Leeci]

very painful story of what this innocent girl must endure at the hands of her abuser. you bought this story to life, nicely done :)

"Can you answer me, eh mister?"
I love the use of language in this line, is this dialect? we say "eh" also in Trini to ask questions and also at the end of our questions as it is habitual. Interesting.

[Kwiksie Ifediora]

Thank you so much Leeci. I'm so glad you could relate. :)

[Rita L. Sev]

Love should be given unconditionally, but that is, unfortunately, not always the case. It is wise and hopeful to push hate aside, and give love, and find it elsewhere... A lot to ponder here. Well done, Kwiksie.

[Kwiksie Ifediora]

thanks a'plenty Rita..and i most certainly agree. :)

[Jack...]

Life is cruel because of cruel people. Hate grows at an alarming rate, but there is good out there somewhere...and it is waiting. So very sad my friend, but so very hopeful.

[Kwiksie Ifediora]

yes indeed, very true words Jack. Hope is very essential if we must go on these days..
thank you for taking the time to read.

[Angel]

Yes, and you have told us eloquently what is not to love. I am in tears, here, for the children who must endure this torture...and I ask, why? The child in your poem found a way out...
This is a sad piece, but it "tells it like it is"...
I don't like it, I don't want to hear it, I want to close my eyes and pretend I didn't see it...but, of course, I cannot. I feel so helpless...
This is a brilliant piece, Hun, and it bears a powerful message that needs to be heard.
Well done!

[Kwiksie Ifediora]

thank you Angel, it hurts me too and like you've said, i hate that it even exists for us to talk about it.
The helplessness feels terrible as well...hopefully, those who can will change this by doing what they need to.
Pray and write is really all we can do

[Ruthie Igunbor]

i could practically hear your voice in this one.
#Hope :)
it speaks to me in words that tell of hope