The Stripper
A poem
The solvent of you
spreads over me
raising it all.
The thick layers
stratified over time,
such as;
layers of lies to one’s self
of not being enough
Self inflicted sentencing
to lay in a bed
I made a long time ago
in which only thorns remained.
I just stayed too long because
I was too scared to live.
Allowing lines to be crossed
that I didn’t know I had to draw.
The words I spoke out loud
that were ignored with pacifying
lip service.
Falling for the illusion
of time and age
as an excuse
to not do much at all,
stuck,
because I was loyal
and maternally bound.
In a self imposed cage,
no longer me, only identified
as wife, mom and daughter.
Just a shell of my former self
with a taste of bitter
that lingered in my mouth.
The things you wish
you never had come to know
but revealed the necessary truth,
brought to you by an unexpected visitor
during your eight hour work day.
The words said,
brought down,
not a tower,
but a four bedroom house
with kids and dog.
This was my cage,
built by never being seen
or ever heard.
Deafness wasn't even an excuse
because I even tried
with written word.
Tired of being on repeat
like a record skipping
that no one paid heed.
Just an annoyance
that scraped on ears.
May as well unplug it
for fucks sake.
I gave up
and completely shut down.
Laid in a dead bed because
I lost complete desire
for you and us.
Learned to take care of myself
as I laid next to you
and you never knew.
Total fucking
disconnect from this supposed
partnership,
and the worst part
from me!
You were aloof and
were often marked absent.
So that day,
the words brought to me
by a woman I did not know,
as we sat in the coffee shop
next to my work
left me numb
and feeling
a whole new level of hurt.
She admitted to trolling me
and was even brazen enough to ask
if he ever followed through on his
promises he made to me.
She said he never kept his promises
with her either.
Imagine that!
It shattered the
one way mirror,
so now I was looking in
and not away.
The final betrayal
staring me in the face,
and honestly
I didn’t even feel
surprised.
Still,
it rocked me to the core,
because I still held on to the
snippet of a vow,
called trust.
Now,
left with with anxiety
and newly found paranoia
because I denied
listening to
the knowing
that lived in my gut.
I finally I had my way out
but at what cost?
The exorbitant cost
of not
loving myself first.
This,
all bubbling in it’s dissolve
with a noxious stink,
as I tried to forgive myself.
And, now to be scraped away
by the edge of the blade you wielded
against the skin that didn’t even matter
as you fucked and stripped me raw.
