The echoes of yesterday, lost in time-
return to her, mouth agape-
she listens to
the insults hurled with deadly precision.
She used to think she deserved his
rancor and belittling.
As if she were a child meandering the dark at night.
The only narc I couldn’t leave,
resurrects the Jezebel, the one who truly
Stomping her down only goes so far-
eventually there will be a resurrection.
She will raise her serpents high
in shaking hands.
You have no rights to joy,
“You don’t exist without my permission!,”
the demon rages.
Words are thrown like stones, the enemy
within decries keep the peace;
the Warrior retaliates in object
rage-but the voices within are drumming to the beat,
the pounding rhythm of codependency.
No, she will not cower, nor bow
before his esteemed, yet imaginary authority.
Even now, ensconced in familiar,
yet hostile territory-
she places her bedding
upon the ottoman of dreams.
And prays for better men