Wrist

In my fantasies he’s warm. His kisses are perfect because our lips seem to have been made just so that we can connect. He stands by my side proudly and lovingly holds my hand. In my fantasies he happily takes me as he is very pleased that I’m wanting to be had. Our bodies would meld together into one as we create a heat so high we melt, into brown butter.

In my fantasies I’m so happy to be his wife. He’s a great father and friend to our children. They trust him. We all do. Like a good guardian he keeps us safe yet we’re still free to explore. He’s strong and confident and allows me to be soft and allows the children to grow. He’s not intimidated by my thoughts and he encourages us all to think. Were happy to belong to him because he is to all of us, everything. 
In my fantasies I hug God and cry in thanks because he’s given me exactly what I’ve asked for. I’m moved because I’m honored to have been given the love of my life.

Sometimes though, things happen. Sometimes we’re not concise in our prayer and what we want isn’t what we’re supposed to have. Sometimes we’re too desperate for love. At times we’re desperate to be touched because we ache to be touched. We base pieces of our value and worth on how others treat us and so, when they treat us bad we feel like nothing.

I guess.

I don’t think that I prayed wrong. I think my prayer was clear. Regardless, I know I didn’t pray for this. What exactly was this? Sadly, I don’t even know. My throat hurts from yelling. My eyes and head hurt from crying.

I hurt yet he sits peacefully. He says that he never loved me. Often he says that he hates me. It’s taken me a very long time to accept this and not be hurt by his words. I just wish that he would leave. Why doesn’t he just leave? He tells me how ugly I am. He says that he’s glad that I can’t have a baby because no one else in this world should look at all like me. His words make me a bit sad but I’m even sadder because I believe him, he’s right.

After I go to bed I stay awake. I hear him shower and hope that he goes to sleep on the couch. I know he won’t but still, I hope. He gets into with me and climbs on top of me. He’s rough and it always hurts. I feel like a prostitute and when I look up at him, he covers my face. I want to die. When he finishes he tells me that it was a waste of sperm. He tells me that fucking me is disgusting because it feels like he’s fucking a mass of dough. I get up and go to the bathroom. I look at myself in the mirror for a long time until finally I disappear. Then I cut my wrist.