Abuse

He never hit me but somehow that made it harder, to explain. no bruises to point at. No police reports. No swollen lip stories to tell me family when they ask "are you okay?" I'd smile thin, practiced- and say, "yeah he just gets stressed sometimes" "I was overreacting" "it's not a big deal" but I was loved with conditions. someone's favorite thing to fix. and also the first thing to break when their hand gets tired. He told me I was beautiful but only after tearing apart everything that made me feel it on my own. "you're lucky i stay" "no one else would" "why do you always ruin everything" "your stupid and bitchy" He said it like truth, and I believed him because when someone repeats something enough, it doesn't sound like cruelty. it sounds like fact. I looked in the mirror and saw it. his disappointment in my smile. his anger in my eyes. His exhaustion in the curve of my body I stopped being a person instead, a reflection of his moods. if he was happy, I was allowed to breathe. if he was angry, I became the reason the world was wrong he never hit me, but he knew how to hurt me. with silence- with words sharp enough to carve apologies into my ribs. and the worst part, I stayed. I remembered who he was---