Face It

Face It


The slap stings more than it probably should,
scratch that like a cat’s scratch on the back of a mattress,
the slap stings more than I thought it would,
because it was a surprise that was deserved but not expected,

and as she tries to explain herself,
with tears streaming down her cheeks and loving anger in her eyes,
I begin to think what every abused person forever thinks,
maybe I deserve it…

She’s small,
petite,
physically unthreatening,
but emotionally a serious liability,
like a stealth bomber,
aeronautically beautiful,
but destructively deadly,
a suicidal sexy savage,
a carcinogenic princess,

she is,
small,
petite,
as cute as she is hard headed,
stubborn trouble that’s hard to argue with,

so I don’t argue,
instead of engage I ignore,
silence can be more of an insult,
than even the worst words,
when words are replaced,
with the silence of space,
all kinds of assumptions and truths can occur,

so I don’t argue,
I don’t debate or retaliate,
I just politely remove myself,
from this escalating situation,

see,
I’ve been in abusive relationships in the past,
and the bones of the skeletons in my closet,
barely rest buried just below the surface,
and that slap,
that fckn slap,
almost awoke the demons,
so loud it almost disturbed the devil,
it almost brought about a most unholy resurrection,

that slap,
was like a shovel digging into the dirt in a graveyard,
almost uncovering the skeleton’s bones buried just below the surface…

But I refuse to let this hysterically temperamental Gravedigger,
unearth a past so sentimentally painful and traumatic,
even though I’m unnerved by the slap because that slap hurt,
I refuse to give in to her drama and become all dramatic,

see,
she’s sweet as Halloween treats,
at the same time still so distasteful,
so instead of engaging in here arguments,
I remove myself and my emotions from her self that’s so ungrateful,
she calls me a player and a slut but I find that her labels are mislabeled,
still I don’t give in to her taunts I refuse to engage in something so shameful,

so instead of engaging,
I leave her alone with her tears,
I exit out the balcony,
and make my way down the stairs,
I take myself to the ocean,
walking barefooted along the path,
I am not responsible for her heart,
so I refuse to endure her wrath,

see domestic abuse hurst both,
the abuser and the abused,
especially when the two are in love,
and they are all out of options to choose,

there’s a very thin line between love and hate,
and those dividing lines can sometimes fade,
mistakes can be made good intentions misplaced,
a kiss on the check and a held hand can turn into a slap in the face,

the slap stings more than it probably should,
scratch that like a cat’s scratch on the back of a mattress,
the slap stings more than I thought it would,
because it was a surprise that was deserved but not expected,

feeling rejected,
and disconnected,
feeling both affected and disaffected,
I exit,

I exit the bungalow,
and ascend down the winding staircase,
I get outside,
and stair into star lit space,

I breathe,
and think,
fresh air is so underrated,
I see my favorite star,
thanking me because I made it,
twinkling vibrantly she has me sedated,
not the girl,
but the star,
she is such a seductress,
shining in such radiant hues of electric light,
she twinkles vibrantly,
she twinkles violently,
she does not go gently into that good night,
she is that good night,
twinkling vibrantly as other stars shoot across the night sky,

she rages against the dying light,
and I give thanks that I am still alive,

I walk,
barefoot and bare chested,
down to the beach,
where the dry desert sands of southern Baja,
meet the wet ocean waters of the Pacific,

bottle of wine in one hand,
book and pen in the other,

I marvel at the stars,
and remember that I am never really alone,
for as long as I can see the sky,
I’ll always see the way to get back home,

I arrive,
at the beach,
several shooting stars later,
and wash away the ache on my face and in my heart,
with waves on my feet and wine in my throat,
I record some more emotions on this paper,
by the light of the full moon,
for as long as I can write,
my pains won’t be in vain,

I will take all of our collective abuses,
and place them on these papers,
transforming them from form to thought,
then from thought to words on these papers,

I will take all of our collective abuses,
process and translate them into messages to be read,
I will take all of our collective abuses,
and process them through the headaches in my head,
and hopefully these messages,
will help others who have been or are being abused stand strong,
and hopefully these messages,
will help others who abuse or have abused realize they are wrong,
because at the end of the day,
what we can say to relate,
is it’s all about love and hate it’s not about right and wrong,

and just as I lose hope,
and ethereal angel appears,
wearing a white linen robe,
looking like a ghost holding laughter and tears,

she sits next to me,
here on the sands,
and takes the warm bottle of wine,
from my cold hands,

she observes as i finish,
writing these last few lines,
she watches me with interest,
as if she can read my mind,
and she smiles even though it’s a painful world,
because she knows we’re both survivors so we will survive,
and she know we’re both riders so we’re always ready to ride,
and we both shine way to bright to ever be able to hide,

and we make love,
our passions rising with the tide,
and maybe that’s why the girl at the bungalow slapped me,
because she was mixed up with hurt feelings and hurt pride,

I hurt her,
so she slapped me,
and I guess that’s fair,
though maybe not exactly,
either way I care too much to care,
and either way that kinda damn slap stings,

even when it’s deserved…

The slap stings more than it probably should,
scratch that like a cat’s scratch on the back of a mattress,
the slap stings more than I thought it would,
because it was a surprise that was deserved but not expected…


∆ Aaron La Lux ∆
The Poetry Trilogy