I know all about it

I know about sweet nothings whispered in my ears, about promises and reaffirmations to love me and only me and vows to never do me any harm. I know about long walks in the park, holding hands and public displays of affection for the world to see and admire this rare and beautiful thing we have going on but I also know that as soon as the door shuts behind us and we are all alone with no one to see, I turn into a punching bag. I watch you make use of my body as a tool and equipment to release your anger and stress, with meaning and deliberate intent behind every punch. I could have told someone, I should tell someone but something tells me that I deserve this, you tell me I do. Body aching with fresh wounds throbbing and oozing blood, you demand sexual satisfaction. I give in because you love me that much I tell myself, that much I know.

I know all about it

I know about dressing up and attending social and work events with you. I know about seeing the envy in most of our friends and colleagues’ eyes at the picture perfect couple that know each other well every time we play against couples and win the game of 30 seconds. The picture perfect couple that supports one another in everything, but I also know that when all this is over, interrogation about why I said what I said begins and judgement about my behaviour and mannerisms will result. I could have spoken up, I should speak up but something tells me I deserve to be put in check. With constant checks up on me to see whether I am fine whenever I hang around away from you, I know it is to make sure I do not run my mouth. That putting your arms around me when I voice my opinion on random topics is actually a reminder that you are watching and listening so I should guard my tongue. I also know that the cute under the table leg touches and constant whispers are warnings to tread carefully and I oblige because you love me that much I tell myself, that much I know.

I know all about it
I know about “I do not know what I have done to deserve you” and “thank you for loving me and only me” but I also know about standing trial and being accused of having an affair with every warm body I know, including the random strangers that dare to greet in passing. I could have drawn the line, I should have but something tells me that speaking to any person that is not you, feeds your insecurities. That I deserve to have my dignity stripped off in the public’s eyes as you call me all these vile names, shoving me around and beating me up to remind me that you own me. I avoid everyone because you love me that much I tell myself, that much I know.

I know all about it

I know about tackling home chores together especially in the kitchen. I would cook or do dishes as you help with peeling potatoes and chopping away on other vegetables but I also know about having the same knife used in threatening my life. It should have ended there, it must have, but your apology after all this begs for me to give you one last chance. Last chance for you to realise how good of a companion I am, for you to do right by me. Last chance it is, over and over again for you to use the very knife to scar my body, leave carvings and mark your signature for written warnings. The last chance it was last night as you embedded a blade to my chest, winching in pain as it pierced through my soul, last chance for me to apologise for loving you wrong and failing to be the man you deserved and I did because you loved me that much I tell myself, and I did not deserve a woman as beautiful and perfect as you that much I know in my death.

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