I let him hit me
spit in my face
to protect not me
not them
but her.
We’ve been through this before
the chains,
the glass,
the fists.
not her.
A shove so hard
the wood
protecting the window
breaks.
A split second thought-
do I rise,
do I speak,
but I don’t.
We’ve been through this before-
the homes,
the systems.
alone,
not her.
We could survive
if it were just us.
Not knowing
was the risk
so-
I let him hit me,
break me,
to protect not me
not them
but her.
To be the oldest
is to know better:
not all battles
are won
by rising.
About the Creator
Tennessee Garbage
Howdy! There is relatable stuff here- dark and twisty and some sentimental garbage. "Don't forget to tip your waitresses" Hi, I am your waitress, let me serve you with more content. Hope you enjoy! :)
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Comments (2)
I love your "trailer trash" creations; soul crushing reality and a Wiz of a writer. I did 16 years of life in Tennessee. Nashville and north toward Kentucky border. I am hoping this fictional. ✌️
man this is a powerful poem, does hurt to see a person have to sacrifice to save another