This is not love

Whore
Wait, what?
The elevated pitch of his voice rings out like a gunshot in the quiet
Overheard, the word is barely muffled
How is this love?
Harsh words strewn around by a boy playing a game of pretend,
Failing miserably at being a man
He’s as convincing as a spider
Spinning his web of deceit
Preparing to devour you whole…
But what’s there left to swallow?
Already knee deep,
there is no amount of soap that will scrub away the foul shit that he has buried you in

Whore
What makes you believe you deserve this fate?
Thud. The wall shudders from the force of his anger.
I hope it’s just doors and not you forcibly meeting the wall.
How is it love?
You are forced to cover freshly bruised flesh—the purple still idles
His words linger
imprinted onto your very essence
You sag under the weight of his reality
Dignity need not apply
A ghost of a smile is all that remains
Just the shell of a bright young woman who had countless possibilities
They’re gone now.

-Dominica Bolden

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