He Was A Six Foot, Six Year Old..-Rachel Finch/Bruised But Not Broken

He was a six foot, six year old,
his skin, heart, cold as the armour he still wore.
Deep voice booming, heavy gaze looming,
clawing for a control he never felt before.
I watched him suck the life from her lungs
and fill his own with a power born from her fear
and he sickened me.
I traced the cut on her skin with a shaky hand
and she flinched.
And she flinched.
She pulled away from soft hands, she knew
and I watched him smirk.
I tasted the vomit in my mouth all the way from
my stomach and gagged on the flavour of the blood
seeping from my heart up to my tongue.
I poured honey on her wounds, thick to hide the
shame and I swallowed blame, his and my own for the
days I watched him shrink her and said nothing.
He was a six foot, six year old,
internal bruising lining the under layer of his body
and he kicked her in the playground that their boys
played tag in and I chased them so he didn’t have to.
I chased them so when they looked back they’d remember
my smile running after them and their mother’s
face toward the sky, her back to him,
her back to his knife, back to his wounds that
were still living.
He was a six foot, six year old,
and we mothered him.
We offered love to an orphan that had never felt warmth
but he did not thaw.
Now I fan the fire to keep the heat and intertwine it in
their nervous system so they never feel the cold they were born into.
So she never remembers the frost.

Rachel Finch 2018 


Rachel can be found on WordPress at Bruised But Not Broken and on Facebook

Author: Sudden Denouement

A Global Literary Collective

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