It’s the way that he looks at her.
Once it made her melt.
Now it injures her.
It stings like a belt.
She calls him husband.
But it’s not what she means
She really means empty the way he makes her feel.
The things that she hides.
He will never see
All the men that abused.
She is his beauty.
Yearning for affection
It forces her to seek
She is not at home on the pillow, where she sleeps.
Helpless and abandoned.
She invites the stranger in.
With each encounter she bleeds for her sins.
Show her a way, before you cast your vote.
There is a reason for her feeling yoked.
Husband she calls him.
It’s not what she means.
He would murder her for things that I’ve seen.
If he really loves her, it’s left to be seen.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem