His words could become sharp as corners

And trap you there

Flailing in his grasp

They could pinch your skin

Until you cried

And cried

Throughout your shifts

They could catch your wrists and stop you

From moving on

From moving

They could lock the doors, no leaving

They could shame you and shrink you

They could come flying in from an open window,

A buzzing phone,

His friend’s mouth,

A spyhole,

And follow and follow

And enshroud you like a net

Until,

His words became hands

As they sometimes do

And he said sorry,

It’s just his way of loving you

His words became hands

That would intimidate, threaten, shake

Make you question the next step you take

But hadn’t his words become hands when they held your own?

And made you feel safe?

When they caressed your face?

His words had reins and whips on you

Before they grew limbs

And they still do,

They still do

He’s left fingerprints,

Like footsteps

Throughout your brain

The memories come back to strangle

His words became hands

Which snatched and stole

But you’re ready to resign from his hold