No More A Trophy Wife

Sharp as mustard

his words stung and left

a trail of poison in my veins

the marks that you see on my face

are the scarred gashes of my  heart

parts of my body hurt

even with  friction of the clothes

I’m used to the metallic taste

of the human blood

“Perform” he used to say

his sandpaper lips

corroded my skin

rapacious, savage, fire-breathing monster

with tongue whipping in and out like a snake

his fangs exposed and dripping

large paws groping, trusting , tearing

mauling and ripping my soul

confused, deranged, wet and slimy

I lugged my pain streaked carrion

meticulously concealed

nothing but  a battered rag doll

with a wound between the legs

who says “time is a healer”

it torments, prolongs

I mulled memory wine for long

filled glasses, raised toasts

got drunk

and then one day

sprawled on the cold floor

I packed my dreams

gathered my hopes

threw you in the trash

crumpled ball of ink smudged paper

No more a sacrificial lamb

or a tasty morsel

a part of your feast

No more a nauch girl

a marionette

a trophy wife

to flaunt

and

keep encased

behind concrete walls

when not in use

I would rather

live on the streets

under the open sky

but will not be used, abused

humiliated, I won’t

become your trophy wife

I won’t succumb, I’ll fight

I will give  up

but won’t give in

my soul is hardened

I am a rock