What’s Not To Love?

What’s not to love about you?

The question eternally echoes in my head.

But it merges with another yet intriguing one;

Why am i not dead?

Can you answer me, eh mister?

Would you pause a moment to listen to these questions above the sound of my heart ripping?

Are you interested in the pain and blood i spew forth from my adolescent lips?

Can you answer me, hear me even?

 

I look at you now and get my answer.

 

Of course you can’t.

What folly to even question you,

Your snores fill the entire room as you lay sprawled

On the very plantation where my innocence and joy—

Where my very humanity was uprooted.

You lay there, oblivious to this mild interrogation.

Fine then, I’ll let my heart do the answering

As my jaw’s too swollen to permit my tongue exit.

What’s not to love about you; where do i begin?

For your qualities, like a snake’s skin, glisten.

I’ve known you my whole life

And for almost that long I’ve been dying.

Only to feel your arms when i attempt fleeing

The torture that resides there.

From my life giver I’ve received death

Wasting away in sorrow’s depth.

 

What’s not to love?

 

I turn away and wince at the throbbing in my neck;

The mental picture of your obscenities is more vivid than the thick blanket with which you’re covered.

So i must turn, lest i puke.

But i hold my already empty belly in check wondering

When i will be rescued from my body’s wreck.

Who will hear my piercing screams, desperate and helpless?

Just in time to prevent my heart from shriveling as the rest of me already has.

 

Certainly not you. Not you mister.

 

Days filled with brutality,

None different from the previous,

Torn, broken, pierced, ripped—

Me!

 

They all became the same eventually.

 

Different shades of suffering merging into one

To create the complete picture of my ordeal.

I view it as each moment passes, this picture that you’ve produced

With instruments most unique.

I see it as I’m robbed daily of the only thing i could ever offer;

A treasure i would kill for if i weren’t so weak.

So now in every stroke of your belt,

Every strike of your fist,

Every lash of your tongue,

I see it and i think;

 

What’s not to love?

 

Should i hate you because you hate me?

Could i kill you while I am yet slayed ceaselessly?

That my own blood makes me bleed is the real tragedy,

But that the concept which birthed this turmoil is called love making

Is simply bad humor at its peak.

Why mister, will you not speak?

You’ve awakened and you stare at me.

There’s nothing new to expect

I’ve grown numb waiting in the wasteland of depression

For my rescuer’s appearance.

 

All that came was you, founder of my sadness.

 

You ask how long it has been since I awoke;

I can smell your bad breath from this haven of distance,

The creation of which I solely credit my knees.

I look straight at your face and into your alcohol reddened eyes,

And again view your wickedness; my disease.

I smile and respond that it has not been long.

 

What’s not to love?

 

You get up and walk out and i exhale breath.

The weighty ache in my head now increases brutally—

Yet strangely i feel unusual strength.

I have never felt like this before.

I feel like i should be afraid but I’m not—I can’t be!

The floor now seems lots closer,

Yet in moments past a stool had borne me.

My excitement is mounting;

Finally!

Finally you’re the one who’s going to be the loser.

I’m escaping, leaving at last.

Going somewhere i will never again be entangled in your evil grasp.

I hear you come back in; you rush to my side yelling,

Ah, if only you knew—

My hearing, kind sir, now disregards you.

All my senses gradually leave; all that’s left is my mind.

It seems the Good Book had been right the whole time.

All I see are lights; all I hear, the sweetest of songs,

At the most unexpected time, my true hero has come.

 

Thank you mister, for giving me birth;

Goodbye mister, I’ve been rescued by life…

One that would seem to you is death.



12 thoughts on “What’s Not To Love?” by Kwiksie (@kwiksie)

  1. this is an issue that generally makes us both sad and uncomfortable, yet it’s a prevailing issue in our society. This poem carries us into the mindset of one facing such abuse and the perspective is dark and sobering. I like the way the peom kind of flows in a narrative direction.

  2. You’re very correct @Izzy. Thanks for reading. :)

  3. @Topazo, @ufuomaotebele, @dees-hive, @innoalifa, i know not too many are poetically inclined (some folks have told me they think poetry’s just flat boring), but since you clearly seem to be, please have a look and do share your thoughts with me.
    Gracias
    :)

  4. Wow!!! Emotional abuse, physical abuse too much!! Almost made me cry because this issue is so real……..
    This line “should I hate you because you hate me” u was whispering “No girl” ………was it the father who was abusing her “her life maker” or who ever it was just so sad……..

    I loved how it seemed she was talking to the abuser kind of like questioning him “why”This written in a form of poet makes it more emotional and everything is felt.
    Even me sef this exactly something I would write this kin of poetry………..Awesome job girl

    1. Thanks so much @ufuomaotebele. You don’t know how pleased i am that you connected with the piece so well!
      You’re absolutely right in your guess, the abuser is her father. It’s really pathetic but unfortunately, still happens. Fathers, Uncles, Brothers, Aunties, Nannies, Cousins, Drivers – you name it!
      Folks need to be aware and pay attention to the littlest things – not out of fear but alertness to the evils that exist in many a heart. Children don’t just say stuff, teens don’t just make-up stories – Pay attention!
      #sigh, it’s to keep praying sha..
      Thanks so much for reading and sharing. :)

      1. Aww *sigh* it is well.

      2. …and @kwiksie head swells just a lil more from the plenty story from the #GirlsClub president @ufuomaotebele …hehehe…anyways brilliant piece…Deep…Deep…Deep…could feel the pain of the victim …i like this work.

        1. @dees-hive, abeg oh, my head is the same size it’s always been e-yeh.
          Thank you for reading and i’m glad you ‘get’ how much pain she’s experienced.
          :)

  5. @kwiksie this is quite intriguing……….
    NB:
    poetry is not flat boring
    as it makes life never dulling
    for when the poet connives
    she carries her poetic knife
    dissecting and resolving issues in life
    pealing the back of life’s orange
    as she tries to carefully arrange
    words in their best and rarefied style…………….

    1. *smiles, thank you so much @innoalifa.
      You’ve got to be one of the most encouraging commenters on NS.
      :)

  6. Poetry expresses human emotions in few words, it can never be boring or flat.

    You captured the emotions well, and the subtle way you showed us the identity of the abuser was good, the metaphors used apt.

    I think however, you could have shortened the poem, used fewer words and more imagery to pass the same message. The lengthy words almost made it read like a prose and as such errors crept in…wrong word usage e.t.c

    Well done

    1. @topazo, i agree with you on poetry’s absolutely un-boring nature. I wish more understood.
      About the length, i follow your meaning also. The plenty grammer probably stems from the fact that initially, i’d written it to be a spoken word piece & just assumed the lengthiness would be appropriate. Never got round to editing i guess…
      I appreciate your corrections and comment, thanks so much for stopping by.
      :)

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