[Content Warning] A Death (Poem)

Sorry: the formatting has been bloody lost when I added the Content Warning - on several posts, and I don't have the time to fix them all so I won't fix any.  

 I undertake these writings – and the sharing of them – for the sake of my self expression. I am under no particular illusions as to their literary merit, and ask only that any readers do not have any undue expectations. If you consider me wrong, then publish me – with full credit, of course :) Please also note that I check only occasionally for comments, so if you make any, please be patient. Kayleen White A Death Why do I let you get away with it? You have no respect you have no love - despite your words and claims to the contrary. I know, in my heart of hearts, I do not want to be here. So why do I stay? Is it the promise I made - the words given so gladly, so long ago? It would seem to be, to me. So why do I let you get away with it? Is it that I see you as a child unable to cope with change unable to cope with being looked after; You would have to go back live with your children make them look after you and that’s unfair - to all. My vision is probably not quite true. Truth. Truth is you were probably correct when you said we were growing apart. For I can no longer live in your tiny world, hemmed in between front gate and back, tied down limited to a life that thrills in a visit to the pokies. But still the question stands: why do I let you get away with the lies, the lack of respect, the forcing me to be a criminal? Do I really see us, you, I, and us, as so unable to cope? Do I fear your violence? After all, you once said, if I leave you, can you come to? You saw it as a funny line pinched from a song: I saw it as a threat - as usual, you didn’t see what I saw, just as you cannot see you’re killing me. Do I fear being a failure - or being seen as such, for we didn’t last this life. Do I feel guilt, that I have not been through the same living hell that other women have? Do I dare call you abuser? I have been as bad tempered as you I haven’t set you free so dare I call you abuser? After all, I am no saint - but still the question stands: why do I let you get away with it? Am I just a simple coward? I do not know; all I know, is that what I once so gladly made trove to is now a living hell, and I am not that which I should be. © Kayleen White 2007