Reblogging this, because I think it’s a subject we should really try to bring into the light. Survivors of domestic violence cannot simply “get over it”, they need the support of friends and family long after the physical wounds have healed.
Woke up on Mother’s Day, and to her great surprise,
Was something she’d never wanted: broken ribs and two black eyes.
Christmas and Valentine’s Day brought more of the same,
Bruises and bitemarks, stitches and awful names.
They ask why she doesn’t leave, why she would “put up with that”?
Guess they don’t realize this isn’t a lover’s spat.
She’s not allowed to use the phone, the money, the car,
If she knew he couldn’t follow, oh, she would run so far.
Years went by before she found the nerve,
The law didn’t deliver justice, only papers would they serve.
She didn’t see it coming, this life after the abuse,
The spite from those around her, the friend that they would choose.
It often confused her, how far she could fall,
She’d done what they’d suggested and left after all.
Was this really better; broken, alone, and scared?
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