It got to your head a little bit. That a guy like him would ever in a million years go for a girl like you was unfathomable! I mean, he’s the kind of person you were taught to steer clear from. The kind that go around breaking and collecting hearts as trophies for their trophy case.
It was exhilarating getting his attention, you finally had bragging rights. It’s funny how quickly you forgot that you are the diamond , how lucky he was to even breathe your air. How before him you walked with your head held high swinging your glorious hips from left to right, not because of pride but because you needed no ones validation. You were complete in yourself. Then here comes prince charming and all of a sudden you crumble like an apple pie piece of cake.
Oh he doesn’t like how much make up you put on so you go the natural route. All of a sudden the glorious skin you walk around in is too fat, too heavy, stretched and disgusting to look at. The skin he so worshipped that first day you let him touch you and your lady parts in the light of day is only fuckable with the lights off now. The glow in your eyes is too bright for his ego. The length of your skirt suddenly too short, no one wants to see the cellulite underneath. Cover that up real quick Missy.
You don’t really know what happened, or when it happened to be honest. The transition from love to utter disgust. The transition from you’re more than enough for him to he’s too good for you. You didn’t see it. It must have happened really quickly. You didn’t realize it when the I love you’s started to sound more like goodbyes because you were caught up in blaming yourself for not being perfect for him. It was definitely your fault. You weren’t beautiful anymore.
You became someone’s emotional punching bag because God forbid someone so perfect lay his perfectly curved hands on you. And yet, here you lie, a quarter a century later, with a black eye in the hospital bed. Sipping on juices because that’s all your stomach can stomach anymore really . At least for now, right? Because he didn’t mean to lift his hand on you that first time when you broke a glass, or the second time, not even the 100th time. You had lost count, just as he had lost reasons to do it. The baggy, his new hobby.
With his hand entwined in yours and his fist firmly squashed between your heart and where your breath lies. Where did your voice go? He promised not to do it again and you somehow lost yourself in between L and V where U should have been. Where did you go? Who are you? The strength to leave left with your golden skin, where cuts and bruises are the only reminder of a once upon a glowing smooth time. History. The history of a strong woman who held her head high as she graced the world with her very presence. The history of a woman with an outstanding mind and a laugh so powerful it would have caught you right in your tracks. She lit up the room with her soul that shone from three planets away. A brave beautiful woman who cupped her own breasts because no bra or hands were strong enough to hold them for her. A history.
Brave woman, roar. Lift your chin up one more time and roar. It could start out as a silent whisper to the God you believe in, a silent prayer. Ride on the stretch marks on your thighs and breasts and ass like a tiger on its strippey skin. Your stomach is holy, it is the very life force of this planet, glorify in its bounce and size. You are beautiful and you are worthy. Escape the cage, stretch out your wings, fly. Fly Roar!