Agony

Photo by Ivana Bella

The agony of fight. I fought for something I believed in for so long. I no longer do.
I broke my back and twisted my neck being tossed across the ocean back and forth like a ping pong ball more times than I have the courage to admit.
Bled from every blister on my hands from every bag lifted, carried and put on my shoulders. Rest always evaded.
Compromised, sat on a chair across the table so no touch of a hand or caress of a fingertip would interupt the listening. And I listened, never took umbrage at any suggestion to do things differently, I changed the way I think and feel, cut my hair, became prettier, painted my nails a different shade of perfect.
Bit my tongue and bent my knees at his feet and went silent on demand.
Forgave everything.
It wasn’t enough.