Fight

She sat there screaming.

Glass was breaking.

Crying.

Fists flying.

Busted lips.

Black eyes.

Broken furniture.

She had to fight.

Fight to get him off her.

Fight.

That’s all she knew how to do.

That’s what men do.

They hit women.

They fight the woman they love.

She knew no other way.

Most of her sisters had to fight.

Fight the men that loved them.

Fight for the dysfunction.

Fight for the bullshit of security.

Fight for the illusion that marriage was good.

Fight for a no good bastard who fathered their children.

Fight.

I never wanted to fight.

I would never use my fists to inflict pain on someone I loved.

I didn’t want to fight.

But I did.

I had to fight.

Fight for my marriage.

Fight to prove that I loved him.

Fight for my sanity.

Not physical.

Emotional.

I was tired of fighting.

I realized that I hated fighting.

I just want love.

No more broken glass.

No more broken furniture.

No more bruises.

To fight the one you love is wrong.

I’ve healed.

I’m learning.

I’m trusting.

I’m growing.

I want you to fight for me.

Not fight me.

 

 

This post is inspired by today’s Daily post. The word is fight.

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18 thoughts on “Fight

      1. Been there, done that. I’m a product of divorced parents. The divorce was hard to go through but the fighting they did before divorcing is still vivid, and I was only 7. Then to be used as some sorta pawn just made it worse. I’d never do anything remotely similar with my kids. Ever.

        Liked by 1 person

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