Fences built, the hammer is sitting, waiting to swing.
Please don’t miss this time, please don’t miss.
I sit, thud, thud, thud.
Me, you said it was me, the cause of your actions. Me.
Pleading, pleading for you to stop.
The thunder of your sound is shaking the house.
The thunder of your lungs is shaking me now.

The lightening of your hands is tearing me up inside.
You thought it funny, you sat, ice holding your hand.
I thought it less, you think it’s me.
Me is not the cause of who you choose to be.

You shoot your arrows at my thoughts, my words, my efforts.
You shoot your venom till I find myself halfway up the steps to avoid your spewing of death.
A little voice behind me out of sight strikes a word of wise.
She says, “Do not talk to mom like that. Talk kind.”
I shudder at my dishonoring of self.
Who will stand for this child, lead her an example. She is her own.
This happened one too many times.

Tornado spinning again.
Taking us with you.
You spin, you thunder, you lightening, you follow, you explode.
I run to protect the child.
The other stays asleep somehow.

I hold her in her alarm, sheltered in her room, I hold her in my arms.
Your tornado that day would haunt her, you didn’t even know.
Your child seeks to know, what is the cause. What was the noise?
The opening to our room portrays the hole in my heart now.
Her words sting you. It shows.
“Dad, that was not okay.”

The storm is surging again, bursting, shattering.
The little child asks, what was that sound?
Hanging pictures again.
She races to her room, I hold the baby boy in my arms.
I tend, I try to muster all my strength to be a mother, to be a protector.
I rock him, sing as my home folds on top of my soul.
I rock him as thunder shakes his wall, up and down, up and down the stairs your thunder, Pounding as I rock, as I rock him.
A shield of angels protecting me and the little ones now.
I sing, I pray and rock through the sound and shudder of so much thunder.
You’re off to work again, now I can breathe, but only shallow breathing.
What will become of us when you return?

        Here is only a few moments from my private life. I portray the damage caused by an angered soul. My heart loves the one who brings the war home. Although our homes are divided now, my heart sings to him from afar as I pray for his heart. It must be hurting more than ever now. One can love from afar, without inviting the war at home.

Abuse in any form is never okay. Domestic Violence is showing itself far more than we would like to admit. I plead with you to know what domestic violence really is, and, abuse in its many forms. I did not see it, because I wished to not see. I did not talk about it in depth because I did not know where to start.

I share now, because I know what it feels like to be afraid in your own home. To be afraid to come home. To be home without the abuser present and to still be in a state of fear.

My hope to all is that you may see things as they really are and dispel the war. Whether it be leaving, or staying, your story is your own.

When you find the courageous you, the path will be extended to you. Your footsteps will be guided as you intentionally seek healing. You cannot change the abuser, you can only change you.

What are you going to do for you today?


The National Domestic Violence Hotline:
www.thehotline.org   1-800-799-7233

Bio: Hi, I’m Effie. A poet, a mother, and a firm believer that when life doesn’t turn out the way you expected it to, you can expect that you are never alone. Perspective is everything. In the deepest spaces of my pain I have felt joy, which I never thought possible. I know from own my experience that open eyes bring radiant skies. Knowledge holds more than a capsule of light and is meant to be shared. Here’s to spreading more radiant sky from my universe to yours.

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