He calls you his baby,
he says you’re his world.
You have a beautiful body,
let me see it.
He says you’re his everything.
You’re everything is diminished
by the nights spent
in the back of that
cherry-red pickup truck.
He’s popular,
he’s worth it.
He’s even worth it
whenever he gets mad.
He screams at you.
He screams louder
and louder
and louder
until your ears crack
and blood floods out
and you find yourself taking
to the floor because it never
hurt you or called you dumb
and it’s love isn’t cheap.
It’s just a floor.
It’sjustafloor.
It’ll never happen again.
He says.
You made me do it.
He says.
It’s your own fault.
He says.
And with all that blood lost,
you found everything
that made you you
slowly bleeding out
along with your pride.
Makeup can’t cover everything.
Add a little bit of cover-up
and lie to yourself
so you can get some sleep tonight.
Rough touches and bruises,
Sobs that shake the night.
You’re not his baby anymore.
You were never his world.