And voices echo through my door
As I pretend to sleep in my bed.
Night after night hearing B*I*T*C*H and w*h*o*r*e,
And you stayed, sacrificing my childhood to
Hear those words instead.
Always knowing anger.
Always seeing the violence.
Making a husband out of a stranger,
Only to be trapped by love's deafening silence.
And to this life I was born,
Only to know love's pain.
And inside I am torn,
I whisper pray every night, 'Please don't let me become the same.'
Is it harder to be the victim of abuse or to have too stand by and witness it?
