He’ll always be an abusive fuck;
but you think if you’re
smooth troubled waters,
give him nothing to complain about,
he’ll see that you love him.
But he doesn’t think the way you do.
He doesn’t think about you at all.
All he thinks about is himself;
how hard it is for him,
how he keeps everything together.
He sees you talking to someone else;
he berates you, scolds you
like a little child who knows no better;
How dare you.
But he chats up all and sundry;
He couldn’t possibly be anything
other than bordering on the perfect,
Oh there is a what next.
A walk into a door,
a ‘silly’ stumble,
‘cos you’re not capable
of functioning without his guidance;
such is the omnipotent,
of this self styled deity
that deigned to honour
you with his presence.
He belittles you?
He humiliates you?
he’s afraid of your self confidence.
He beats you?
He’s a coward.
You deserve better.
For The Poetry Pantry #436 . I was thinking about the way my old man, who died recently, treated my mother and us children. It happens everywhere, and it sickens me to see these men abusing good women and children simply because they can.