Felt My Fist Hit the Wall

Felt My Fist Hit the Wall

You pushed me past the edge,

you laughed at every tear,

you wanted a monster,

you wanted proof I was broken,

so you could say you were the victim.

I felt my fist hit the wall,

the crack ran down the plaster,

dust falling like ashes,

my knuckles burning red,

but I never touched you.

You wanted me to strike you,

you wanted something to point at,

some bruise to parade to your friends,

but I do not hit women,

I will never wear that stain.

So I hit the wall instead,

and stood there shaking,

thinking how easy it would be

to become what you wanted,

and how hard it was not to.

The wall healed cleaner than I did,

it never carried blame or shame,

but I still hear that moment in my chest,

like a war drum that has not stopped.