When your own blood betrays you
it is your own limb that maims you,
being attacked in your sleep
by your own fist.
Shocking, reprehensible, and unexpected.
Doubly hard to forgive the betrayal
by one as close as your own breath.
Impossible to forget,
I hide what I feel,
you laying with my love.
Shake it off, let it go
these memories of indelible misery.
You may be someone's heartache,
and how does that feel?
But those who inflict misery do not feel it.
They do not feel.
Only those maimed by their cruel words
and denials know the sorrow.
The rapist never feels sorry, wondering
if he produced a bastard child.
Perpetrators do not look back
or even stop to pause.
That would take courage,
what the betrayer has never had.
It takes no courage
to speak without thinking,
to act like an animal.
The most unfortunate part
is that you, the betrayed,
still have to see them at Christmas dinner.
I say: fuck 'em.
Skip dinner all together.
Let them ingest heartburn without you
for it may be the only time their heart feels anything.
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