Burning buildings and broken hearts.

Beaten black and blue with regret.

He’s standing over me, angry eyes.

Neck is open, his fists around it.

He shakes me, demands to know.

Blood on his knuckles, I feel pain.

Holes in the wall, fixtures shaking.

His hair uncombed, eyes with evil.

The abuse I survived for years.

The stinging hurt in my gut.

I know what comes next.

So I take another blow.

The chain on his neck swings.

Another drink from the bottle.

The other girl on his phone.

Another tattoo on his face…

…so I wait for him to sleep.

Baseball bat in my hands.

Fingers curled tight.

Heart in my throat.

Knees loose, balanced.

Let’s see you fight now.

Empty bottle of Jack on the stand.

Mouth open, limbs limp from the bed.

I nudge him with the cold metal.

And stand on the bed at his feet.

He wakes warily, groaning.

His eyes searching the dark.

Calm, reassured. Safe.

He looks down at me.

I swing hard like Babe Ruth.

Knock that sucker from his britches.

I don’t give him time to get up.

I clock again and bat him hard.

He calls out, my blind rage.

Let’s see him fight now.

Angry tears spill over my cheeks.

I let out my battle cry, fierce.

The one I held for four years.

I pull back again, vision red.

He stops putting his hands up.

And rolls onto his side.

All this time

I thought he was the villain…

I move his face from the floor.

And cradle it with my hands.

Warm crimson trickles down.

…But as I watch his blood drip,

Racing down my fingertips…

I realize it was only ever a matter

…of perspective.