The violence shouldn’t shock me, not now, not after all this time together, but it does.
The slaps, the vicious thumps, the hand cracking across my face.
Once you threw me so hard against the wall that something, something deep inside me broke, if I’m being honest, I’ve never really been the same since that day.
And of course, there’s the shouting
“Shut up, shut up, shut up” you scream and when you look at me your face contorted with anger, well it’s easy to ignore the confusion and doubt with which you greet the day
I know your not a monster, I know you need me.
Some more constricted writing.
100 words, a monologue by a domestic object from your morning routine.