He beats me; He beat me so good the other day, I thought he almost took me out. It’s ok, cause he beat me and no one can see the black and blue bruises that were left, I get to smile all the same. Only Lord knows why I continue to go back for the abuse but I guess it’s the dependency I can’t seem to do without. It’s as if I need a fix and he is my pusha’, dealing bullshit intravenously until my veins swell and I walk bent over, almost fall to the ground, unable to speak, yet catch myself because I refuse to be taken out.

Maybe I am not making myself clear; it is the verbal and not the physical that is ailing me. He does not beat me with his bare hand but with his cold words. He beats my chest in with his tongue, breaking ribs, fingers and toes, causing sleepless nights, the same one that can be so soft, wet and sweet. The one that kisses me goodnight and tells me he loves me in the morning.

The moment my mind relaxes long enough to have at least one pleasant thought, he opens his mouth with the putrid smell of his “opinion”, his view of the world on that particular day or when he feels like reminding me who he really is deep within. Now don’t get me wrong everyone is entitled to their own opinions and you have to respect it, but most days it’s just not my cup of tea, hell milk, juice, water, kool-aid or soda. Those are the days I refuse to drink until I become so dehydrated medical attention is needed. The whites of my eyes become jaundice, I lose color in my cheeks and I have lost of appetite and all I crave is a kind word to satisfy a broken heart.

Mama always told me, don’t let your tongue write a check your ass can’t cash because once words have left your mouth they can not be taken back. They forever float in the air and stain the brain of those around you even if sorry is said in the aftermath. A five letter word does not make up for the boundless amount of bullshit dispensed on a daily basis. Now he who is without sin cast the first stone and Lord’s know I have my share of lose tongue moments.

But calling someone out their name, unable to be happy for someone’s success, trying to get her to break up with him and you ain't got a man or telling them they didn't do it right because they did not do it your way, sorry is not enough. Sorry becomes a melanoma as if a cancerous cell that multiplies with each breath that requires it to be spoken, written or thought.

Just when I begin to forget who he really is, it does not take long for him to open his mouth and remind me again. Don’t feel bad for me cause he don’t do it everyday, its just that he has fluctuations of the mouth tendencies and does not understand his shit does ill-reputable damage in me. Turns the table when I pull his card and said it’s not him it’s me. He lives to use word play saying I didn’t call you a bitch I said you were acting like a bitch. Although I don’t remember barking…..Using adjectives as if they were his next of kin and spend time not listening to my response but focuses on his next insult or justification.

He beats my spirit and it all depends on the alignment of the moon and stars as to what he will beat on any given day. I have tried everything in my being to make him be more human. But all he does is prove I am not the one for him to be changing. I don’t consider myself a quitter but, like Kenny Roger’s say ya gotta know when to fold em and know when to walk away. So I have learned to pick my battles carefully.

As I walk away and back towards the words said out of malice, when the sun goes down and the stars don’t seem to shine as bright as they did the night before, your bed is cold and insomnia is now your best friend, no warm body to sooth your tired head, then tell me, who’s really sorry….