A Poem On The Strongest Woman I Know
She can never listen to half the songs on her phone but she keeps them anyway, each title a hard punch in her stomach that she fights off by pressing skip
Skip, skip, skip past all the memories of the devil that was once an angel living under her roof. Her roof.
Her heart has assembled it's own stone wall that cannot be knocked down by another's hand
When we watch movies together she can't hide her second long wince as she watches her past mirrored onto the screen. She clenches her jaw as her hands turn to fists. She thinks I don't notice the quick look of fear dash across her eyes as the women on the screen is hit by her lover, a painful reminder that stabs her deep down inside.
Though she sees these things as weakness I admire them all. Everytime she swallows down the image she has of him deeper into the filing cabinet, into the only drawer with a lock, I am reminded that she is the strongest woman I know.
Every passing day that she looks at his face plastered on a younger, softer face with curly hair and hazel eyes and tells her the truth, "I love you", I know that she is a warrior and a damsel and that she will save herself.
As I sit through countless lectures of love and life and right and wrong and how hard it can be sometimes to tell the difference, I roll my eyes as if to say "I know. You've told me 40 times before" as if to say "that won't happen to me" as if to say "I'm sorry this happened to you"
But I know that because of her, the first time he hits me will surely be the last.