I recently found this poem I had written a couple of years back which was inspired by the novel of the same title written by Roddy Doyle. This is not necessarily based on anything autobiographical. Just wanted to make that point clear. The novel was truly inspiring and left me no other choice, but to translate how I felt into a poem. Enjoy.
The Woman Who Walked Into Doors
Where did you get that black eye?
I walked into a door.
How did you break your leg?
I fell down the stairs.
How did you break two ribs?
Wouldn't you know...I slipped and fell in the kitchen.
And the cigarette burns on your arm?
You know me...just being careless.
How did you REALLY get the black eye?
I wouldn't make his coffee.
And your leg?
I didn't love him enough.
Your broken ribs?
I loved him too much.
The cigarette burns?
Just to put me in my place.
If I only could keep my mouth shut
If I could only be more of what he wanted
...if I could only escape.
Maybe when the blood dries, I can sink below the pain.
I don't even know who I am anymore.
Days and weeks blur together until they become months and years.
I am nothing without him, he reminds me of this as he picks me up off the floor.
And he is nothing without me...he does this because he loves me.
I avoid mirrors in the hallway...the blistered and bruised face reminds me...
I am the woman who walks into doors...nothing else.