Man on the Moon

February 18, 2009
By EmilyB BRONZE, A Boring Town In, Mississippi
EmilyB BRONZE, A Boring Town In, Mississippi
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

Because of you I'm torn up inside,
marks on my skin that I have to hide.
People ask questions when I'm in gym:
No clothes, nothing to shield their eyes from my skin.
So I fake a smile, force a laugh, cover up your sin.
It worked this time, but it might not the next.
Will I ever get any self-respect?

You think I'm bullet proof and can handle your shot.
What would you do if and when you ever got caught?
Probably say "It's not what it seems."
Tell a story 'bout how you're not really mean.
Smooth my hair, kiss my forehead;
as soon as the door closes, you push me back on the bed.
One, two, three, four, I've lost count.
Five, six, seven, eight, I want out.
I always have, from the first time you say:
"Baby, it won't happen again."
But when we fight, I know that I'll never win:
Because you're stronger, faster;
grab me when i bolt for the door.
Only a few hours later and already you're back for more.
"Don't ever again pull a stunt like that,
I'm always close, and I'll keep comin back"

You hold me close and act real sweet,
but in a matter of minutes you're beatin on me.
When no one's around,
you bring me down.
When everyone's there,
you act like you care.
But I know inside you don't.
I pray that this will stop,
but I know inside it won't.

You've gotten smarter now, know where to hit me.
You beat me harder, but only where they can't see.
One black eye, "walked into a door";
broken wrist, "I fell and it's still sore";
marks all over, "I'm just really clumsy";
bruises too, but "I swear I'm healthy".
You make sure everyone knows, how I got hurt.
The view seems better from here, laying in the dirt.

I'm not strong enough, to win this war;
and every day, im bruised and sore.
Someday I'll find a way, to get out of here,
and until that day, I'll live in fear.
Because when I'm with you, I flinch at every move
you make, and I'm starting to wonder how much more of this
I can take,
Why couldn't you have been nice?
Why do you always wanna start a fight?
I guess no matter what I do, I'll never be good enough for you.
So I keep wishing to the man on the moon,
that I get out of this hell real soon.

The author's comments:
While I am not personally a victim of domestic violence, this piece just poured out of my mind. In a matter of minutes I was already editing. There was nothing that inspired it, late night brain waves just clicked. This was originally a song, (I write lyrics) so if the format seems odd that's why. I also edited parts of it to make it more poetic.

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