When I held out my leather mit again
That he bought me so I could play the game
And said, “when is he coming back this way?”
She waved me away.

When there was a Christmas Eve accident
And the one got out of the car to sort it
I gave her a pen so she could record incident.
She told me stop talking.

When my knee cap was enflamed in fluid
And I couldn’t walk properly nor human.
She told me to walk normal and “stop it.”
She said she didn’t like hospitals.

So when I found myself in Tottenham Court Road
At the bar with you annoyed with me and cold.
Where I was so drunk I pissed my drawers.
I was not an individual.

Looking back, I could have got mugged or worse.
Was carted down the alley till you returned.
You got me home fine and kept me alert.
Who cares if I get hurt.

When I felt angered and not fulfilled with that boyfriend
And tried to say it and he cried like a baby again.
Quickly my needs again ignored in that relationship.
Who cares what I expect.

Do you see a pattern? Do you know my tales?
Do you see I’ve been taught to care less for myself?
Ever sink a blade in a fresh steak?
Ever buzz off of a hug of oxytocin?
That moment of perfection when all is perfect?
And you can feel it, feel it, full circle almost?

In my most unglorious of moments: my truest self.
Reduced to vulnerable child who’s of no importance.

You saying you got me home OK
Is like my mom saying, “I made you supper, didn’t I?”
But thanks because I’m told I’m starving.
Meeting you was like being fed to the wolves, my darling.

Half wanting cold to feel less when I’m beaten, eaten.
Half wanting the luxury of being the attention of a lone wolf’s craving.
Fresh meat and weaklings.
Easy prey and young things.

Sylvie Hill