your life is all about what you make of it; not about what others think of it
He drew me close and let loose my hair,
I held my breath and hung my head back.
I would never meet his eyes,
Would never dare catch
A glimpse of those, blue and wild,
Which had no compassion, no care.
He loved me I knew,
But not the way I wanted him to.
He pulled out the couch,
Where he made me lay.
He unburdened himself on me,
He was heavy,
But how could I say?
I wanted it over with.
My body under his,
Lifeless and limp,
Was an outward expression
Of my soul within.
I dared not move, not twitch, not wince,
The knife on my neck was guard for this.
I waited till he was done,
Buttoned up and stood,
Tall like a master, just as he should.
I stood up too and let down my skirt
Before I bowed and said, “Thank you, dear sir.”
It might seem strange to a passerby
That I still am afraid of meeting my husband in the eye.