Brittle Tears

He'd little love for me - I less for him;
And, yet, he so controlled, I could not fight
Insinuation; if he took delight
In making me his own, my eyes still brim
with brittle tears, remembering he'd sting
My well-marked cheek with slaps; this made me bite
My tongue and hold my peace throughout each night
While he regaled his friends; I would not sing
His praises, kneeling at his feet; he bruised
My ego, then he'd drag me up the stair
And use me hard, leaving my face suffused
And bruised; although I hoped he'd never dare
To fuck me openly, he built such fear,
He hurts me still (more than it may appear).