"She doesn't mean the things she says,"
you say to yourself,
over and over.
"I hate you.
I wish you were never born.
Get out!
Leave, and never come back!"
she yells these things at you,
but she doesn't mean the things she says,
she really loves you,
she really cares.

"She doesn't mean to hurt me,
it was an accident,"
you tell yourself,
as you feel your skin swell,
an unseen bruise that will soon arise,
purple against white.

"I miss her,"
you tell yourself,
after she's done yelling and screaming,
hitting and kicking.
Now you realize she's lost herself.

"I hate her,"
you tell yourself,
after she's done screaming and hitting,
yelling and kicking.
You no longer remember anything about her,
nothing but a poor woman,
broken inside,
abusive on the out.