Picture Frame

June 19, 2012
By Anonymous

I knew I had made a mistake.
I could never just keep my mouth shut.
Before I had the chance to flee,
I was up against the wall.
As he lifted me higher,
I wondered how my hair could hold the weight of me.
The house was quiet,
Save for my screaming man,
And the sound of his spit hitting the wall.
I stared beyond the scene,
The paint was chipping on the ceiling.
As I was thrown into the corner,
I heard a shatter.
A picture had fallen,
The frame in pieces.
My man walked away,
And told me to clean the mess.
As I picked up the glass,
I noticed the picture.
My man’s wife and newborn.
The wife gone, the newborn with her.
I knew my man was in pain,
He had lost all that mattered.
If I could endure the lashings,
Maybe I can be enough.
If I learn to be quiet,
Maybe I can appease.
I stole a piece of the frame,
And put it in my drawer,
Always to remind me,
I am not the one who suffers.

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